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PEACE: 


OR 


THE    STOLEN    WILL! 


n   American   ;N0ocl. 


BY 

MARY   W.    JANVRIN. 


'Tis  to  create,  and  iu  creating  live 
A  being  more  intense,  that  we  endow 
With  form  our  funcy,  gaining  as  we  give 
The  )if«  we  image,  even  as  I  do  now. 
What  am  I?     Nothing:   but  not  so  art  than, 
.V.i//  nf  my  thought .' 

BYROS 


BOSTON: 

K.   O.    LIBBY    AND    COMPANY. 

.1858. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1857.  by 

JAMES    FRENCH    AND    COMPANY, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


STEREOTYPED  AND   PRINTED  BY 
W  .  F  .  D  K  A  I>  E  It ,  A  X  1)  U  V  K  K  . 


TO 

A  MEMORY  AND  A  NAME 
—  2TJ)e  Sfster  — 

MISSED    ON    EARTH, 

WHENCE  THE  ANGELS  BECKONED  HER  FROM  MY  SIDE  AS  WE  CLIMBED 

GIRLHOOD'S  SUNNY  UPLAND  SLOPES  TOGETHER, 

BUT    SAFELY   HOUSED    IN    HEAVEN, 

IN  WHOSE    SERENER  CLIME    I    HOPE    TO  WALK    BESIDE    HER  YET  AGAIN, 

• 

I    DEDICATE    THIS    OFFSPRING, 

BORN  OF  THOUGHT  AND  IMAGINATION, 

CHRISTENED  "PEACE." 


2068037 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. 

I.  Ridge  Farm.  —  The  Snow  Storm.  —  The  Wanderer, 

II.  Mary  Halpine,      . 

III.  Eeuben  and  Patience, 

IV.  The  World's  Code  of  Morals,        .... 
V.  Death  for  Life, 

VI.  An  Heiress's  Bridal, 

VII.  The  Bound  Boy, 

VIII.  Life  at  Ridge  Farm, 

IX.  The  Taper  Burns  Out, 

X.  The  Young  Student, 

XL  Peace  at  Boarding-School, 

XII.  The  Snare, 

XIII.  Death  and  Avarice.  —  The  Stolen  Will, 

XIV.  A  Neglected  Wife, 

XV.  The  Revelation  and  Flight, 

XVI.  Diamond  Cuts  Diamond        ..... 

XVII.  Student  Revels.  —  The  Downward  Way,      . 

XVIII:  The  Governess,     ....... 

XIX.  Juvenile  Precocities.  —  The  Little  Sunbeam, 

XX.  Orah  Rowland.  —  Private  Theatricals,          . 

XXI.  The  Ballet  Girl.  —  Mid  night  Marriage, 

XXII.  A  Darkened  Brain.  —  Remorse,    .... 

XXIII.  The  Actor's  Benefit  Night.  —  "  Too  Late ! " 

XXIV.  From  Over  Seas, 

XXV.  The  Artist  Girl,    .        .        .        .  %    . 

1* 


PAGE. 
7 

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19 

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.  78 

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.  98 

.  109 

.  117 

.  128 

.  137 

.  146 

.  152 

.  158 

.  169 

.  178 

.  188 

.  205 

.  213 

.  222 

.  230 

(5) 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

XXVI.  A  Coquette  Weaves  her  Toils,        .        .        .        .237 

XXVII.  The  Meeting  in  the  School-Room,           .        .        .244 

XXVIII.  Review  of  Dramatis  Personae,        ....     253 

XXIX.  The  Nest  — A  Serpent  There,       .-       .        ,        .     2G2 

XXX.     Chip  Weed's  Hardships, 271 

XXXI.  Summer    Flittings.  —  Springdale.  —  The    House- 
keeper's Story, 278 

XXXII.  The  Trip  Down  River.  — A  Revelation,         .        .287 

XXXIII.  The  Stolen  Will.— Chip's  Flight,  .        .        .299 

XXXIV.  Fire! 307 

XXXV.  A  Villain's  Plot.  — Bank  Robbery,         .        .        .316 

XXXVI.  Heart  History,        .        .,      .        .        .        .        .323 

XXXVII.  The  Invalid.  —  Discomfited  Parvenues.  —  Rejected 

Lovers, 341 

XXXVIII.  Visit  to  the  Tombs.  — Father  and  Daughter,           .     353 

XXXIX.  The  Thunder  Storm.  — Leafy  Earle,      .        .        .361 

XL.  Trial  of  Revere.  —  An  Unexpected  Witness,          .     366 

XLI.     The  Lightning  Stroke, 377 

XLII.  Gabrielle.  — Father  and  Son,          .        .        .      ^.    386 

XLIII.     Retribution, 394 

XLIV.     Finale, 400 


PEACE:    OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 


CHAPTER    I. 

O,  open  the  door  !  some  pity  show ! 

Keen  blows  the  northern  wind  : 
The  glen  is  white  with  the  drifted  snow, 

And  the  path  is  hard  to  find. 

SCOTT. 

THE  tall,  old-fashioned  clock  in  the  corner  of  the  long,  low, 
nicely  swept  kitchen  had  long  ago  told  the  hour  of  nine,  —  the 
evening  wore  late  to  primitive  country  dwellers,  whose  motto  was 
the  time-honored  —  "  early  to  bed  and  early  to  rise,"  —  the  logs 
of  the  hickory  fire  had  burned  low,  and  lay  smouldering  on  the 
iron  fire-dogs,  —  the  wind  whisked  down  the  wide-mouthed 
chimney  and  flared  the  candle  on  the  little  round  table,  whirled 
tiny  clouds  of  white  ashes  all  over  the  red  brick  hearth,  orj  now 
and  then  sent  a  sudden  tongue  of  red  flame  from  out  the  dying 
fire-brands,  lighting  up  the  old  kitchen,  the  dressers  with  their 
rows  of  polished  pewter  ware,  the  little  looking-glass  with 
quaintly  carven  frame  wreathed  with  evergreen  and  scarlet  wax- 
berries,  the  old-fashioned  furniture,  ears  of  interwoven " "  traced 
corn,"  and  strings  of  bright  red  bell-peppers  suspended  from  the 
beamed  ceiling,  and  then,  dying  into  darkness,  grim  shadows 
quivered  over  all. 

(7) 


8         PEACE:  on  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

The  gray  kitten  had  purred  herself  to  sleep  in  the  warmest 
corner  of  the  hearth ;  Bruno,  the  great  watch-dog,  a  veteran 
Newfoundlander,  lay  with  his  head  between  his  shaggy  fore- 
paws  :  the  old  clock  still  ticked  on  with  its  steady  monotone, 
while  the  evening  wore  later ;  but  yet  Aunt  Patience  Wedge- 
wood  sat  knitting,  knitting,  beside  the  little  round  table,  for  she 
had  sat  up  that  night  far  beyond  her  usual  tune  to  "  toe  off"  the 
last  of  a  pair  of  yarn  socks  for  "  Brother  Reuben,"  who  dozed  in 
his  arm-chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hearth. 

There  was  a  driving  storm  without,  just  such  a  keen,  wintry 
storm  as  visits  open  country  places;  heaping  drifts  all  over  the 
meadows  and  fields ;  drifts,  white  and  phantom-like  hi  the  dimmed 
moonlight,  huddled  closely  together  like  ghosts  lain  down  to  rest 
from  their  midnight  revels ;  muffling  the  low  stone  walls  and 
straggling  fences  along  the  road-sides  with  fleecy  blankets ; 
hanging  bridal  veils  over  the  dusky  pines  and  feathery  hemlocks, 
and  then  sifting  down  among  the  under  brush,  leaving  a  white 
tribute  on  twig,  spray,  and  gray  mossy  rock  below;  whirling 
away  over  long  reaches  of  pasture,  meadow-land,  and  brown 
stubble  field ;  driving  into  every  nook  and  cranny  of  old  country  • 
houses,  —  whitening  their  low,  brown  roofs,  —  flecking  the 
weather-beaten  clapboards  with  patches  of  down,  —  choking  up 
the  wide-mouthed,  moss-grown  chimneys ;  then,  back  to  earth 
again,  drifting  up  the  paths  to  barns  and  granaries,  covering 
sheds  and  out-houses  with  a  roofing  of  purest  "  cararra,"  block- 
ing up  the  low,  old-fashioned  farm-house  doors,  leaving  a  snowy 
finger  on  every  window-sill,  heaping  drifts  all  around  the  old 
well-curb,  and  laying  one  long,  downy  ridge  on  the  curving  well- 
sweep.  Just  such  a  storm  was  it  which  went  whirling  through 
Meadow  Brook  that  December  night,  and  came  moaning  at  the 
windows  of  the  farm-house  at  "  the  Ridge."  ' 

"  A  knock  at  the  door !    Bless  me  !  who  can  it  be,  this  stormy 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         9 

• 
night  ?  and  so  late,  too !    Wake  up,  Reuben !  wake  up ! "  —  and 

Patience  started  from  her  low,  rush-bottomed  rocking-chair,  laid 
down  the  just  finished  stocking,  shook  the  sleeper's  arm,  as  the 
knock  was  faintly  repeated ;  then,  stepping  to  a  window  which 
commanded  a  view  of  the  outer  door,  peered  out  from  behind 
the  chintz  curtain. 

"  Mercy !  if  it  isn't  a  woman  !  Do  open  that  door,  quick, 
brother ! "  —  and,  as  he  went  into  the  little  entry  and  drew  the 
wooden  bar  from  its  fastenings,  Patience  followed  him  closely, 
with  the  candle  in  her  hand. 

Reuben  Wedgewood  opened  the  door;  and  a  female  form, 
muffled  in  a  shawl  and  hood,  white  with  snow,  staggered  faintly 
forward  and  sank  upon  the  threshold,  with  a  feeble  moan. 

"  Bless  us !  who  can  she  be  ?  Poor  creetur !  Bring  her  in, 
Reuben,  —  right  here  to  the  fire  ! "  —  and  Patience  hastened  to 
re-light  her  candle,  which  a  sudden  gust  from  the  open  door  had 
extinguished. 

Lifting  their  strange  visitor  carefully,  Reuben  bore  her  into 
the  kitchen,  and  laid  her  on  the  old  high-backed  settle  in  the 
chimney-place,  while  Patience  distended  her  thin,  withered 
cheeks,  with  blowing  at  a  coal  she  applied  with  the  tongs  to 
the  wick  of  the  candle.  For  a  few  moments  her  efforts  were 
unsuccessful. 

"  Dear  me !  why  don't  it  light  ? "  she  exclaimed.  "  But, 
there  !  no  wonder,  —  I'm  so  flustered !  Reuben,  do  take  off  her 
hood,  and  rub  her  hands.  There's  some  camphor  in  the  cup- 
board. She's  in  a  dead  faint,  —  or  frozen,  may  be,  —  poor  cree- 
tur !  There,  it's  lit  at  last !  "  —  and  she  placed  the  blazing  can- 
dle on  the  table,  then  turned  toward  the  woman. 

But  in  those  few  moments,  while  Reuben  "Wedgewood  stood 
bending  over  the  stranger  lying  unconscious  on  the  settle,  one 
or  two  gleams  of  flame  shooting  up  from  the  embers  on  the 


10        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

• 
hearth,  and  playing  over  the  pallid  features  of  the  face  turned 

toward  the  fire-place,  lighted  them  up  with  wonderful  fidelity. 
Beautiful  features  were  they,  too,  though  sharpened  and  deadly 
pale.  The  forehead  low  and  broad :  pale,  blue-veined,  and 
almost  transparent  eye-lids,  fringed  with  curling  lashes ;  a  sweet 
mouth,  exquisitely  curved,  though  the  lips  were  slightly  con- 
tracted with  an  expression  of  suffering;  such  was  the  face, 
framed  in  masses  of  golden  hair,  wet  with  the  melted  snow  fast 
dripping  from  her  hood,  upon  which  the  farmer  gazed.  But 
not  only  did  the  flickering  fire-light  reveal  to  Reuben  Wedge- 
wood  a  young  and  beautiful  woman,  lying  unconscious  before 
him ;  in  that  face  he  saw  the  features  of  one  who  had  once  been 
dear  to  him  as  his  own  life,  —  features  which,  meet  them  when, 
or  where,  or  under  what  phase  he  might,  he  could  never  forget, 
for  they  were  graven  on  his  heart. 

And  then  it  was  almost  fearful  to  behold  the  agitation  of  that 
strong  man.  He  leaned  against  the  chimney-jamb  for  support, 
and  grasped  tremblingly  at  the  back  of  a  chair;  and  when 
Patience  turned  for  a  moment  from  the  unconscious  woman,  she 
saw,  by  the  tremor  of  his  frame,  and  the  beads  of  sweat  on  his 
seamed  forehead,  that  some  powerful  emotion  shook  his  soul. 

"Why,  brother  Reuben,  what  is  the  matter?",  she  asked. 
"  I  declare,  you're  white  as  a  sheet !  I  do  believe  you're  goin' 
to  faint  away,  too  !  What  is  it,  Reuben  ?  "  and  she  grasped  his 
arm. 

"  Nothing,  Patience  ;  nothing,  only  a  touch  of  the  palpitation, 
that's  all ! "  —  and  he  pressed  his  hand  convulsively  over  his 
heart.  "  It  is  gone,  now ;  let  us  bring  her  to ! "  he  added, 
huskily. 

Patience  gave  him  a  quick,  sharp  gaze  ;  then,  apparently  sat- 
isfied, bringing  camphor  and  hartshorn  from  the  closet,  set  about 
the  restoration.  "  La,  what  little,  delicate  hands ! "  she  ex- 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         11 

claimed,  chafing  them  between  her  own,  rough  and  calloused 
with  household  toil.  "  Covered  with  fine  rings,  too !  Most 
likely,  Reuben,  she's  some  rich  lady, — lost  her  way,  maybe.  Poor 
creetur  !  she  oughtn't  to  be  out  such  a  bitter  night.  Why,  she's 
almost  gone  !  I  can't  bring  her  to  a  grain !  Here,  Reuben, 
jest  carry  her  into  the  bed-room,  while  I  get  blankets  and  hot 
water.  I'm  most  afeard  she's  dyin',  —  she  looks  so  kinder  white 
like ! " 

Patience  took  the  candle  and  preceded  Reuben  across  the 
floor  to  the  bed-room,  which  adjoined  the  kitchen  as  is  usual  in 
old-fashioned  farm-houses,  where,  upon  a  broad  hearth,  smoul- 
dered the  embers  of  a  wood  fire,  kindled  early  in  the  evening. 

"  How  lucky  I  made  a  fire  here  to-night !  it  is  nice  and 
warm ;  and  here  is  a  hot  brick  for  her  feet !  There,  lay  her 
down,  brother;  she's  comin'  to  a  little,  I  b'lieve.  Guess  it's 
notliin'  more'n  a  faint,  after  all !  " 

It  was  a  plump,  downy,  inviting  bed,  with  spotless  white  pil- 
lows, and  a  blue  and  white  woven  woollen  counterpane,  over 
which  the  linen  sheet  with  its  broad  hem  was  turned  evenly, — 
whereon  Reuben  "VVedgewood  placed  his  slight  burden,  tenderly 
as  he  would  have  lain  down  a  child ;  and  then  he  returned  to 
the  kitchen  and  sat  down  on  the  end  of  the  settle,  where  her 
hood  still  lay  —  burying  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Patience,  meantime,  wrought  with  gentle  woman-hands  in 
the  bed-room ;  drew  off  the  woman's  snow-damped  garments, 
after  she  had  partially  restored  her  from  the  swoon,  —  carefully 
wrapped  blankets  about  her,  placed  warm  draughts  at  her  feet, 
smoothed  out  and  bound  up  the  long  masses  of  wavy,  golden 
hair,  —  and  then,  her  good  offices  finished,  went  out  into  the 
kitchen,  and  drew  her  chair  close  to  Reuben's  side. 


CHAPTER    II. 

Can  this  be 

The  young,  the  loved,  the  happy  Rosalie  ! 
And  might  not  pardon  be 

Also  for  her  ? 

L.  E.  L. 

THERE  was  a  singular  expression  on  the  spinster's  face,  as 
she  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments ;  then,  Jeaning  forward  and 
laying  her  hand  on  his,  said,  "  Brother  Reuben !  " 

"  Patience,"  and  he  raised  his  head,  whispering  hoarsely, 
glancing  toward  the  bed-room  door,  "  Patience,  don't  you  know 
her  ?  " 

The  hand  clasped  tighter  over  his. 

"  Reuben,  you  don't  mean  that  the  poor  creetur  in  yonder 
room  is  —  is" — but  her  lips  could  not  frame  into  utterance  a 
name  which  for  five  years  had  been  unspoken  under  that  roof. 

"  Yes,  sister,"  —  and  the  farmer  glanced  half-furtively  around 
the  old  kitchen,  and  spoke  in  a  thick  whisper,  "it  is  her  — 
Mary  !  " 

Patience  started  up.  A  flush  crimsoned  her  withered  cheek  ; 
an  angry  sparkle  burned  in  her  eye. 

"  You  are  right,  Reuben  ! "  she  said,  at  length.  "  When  I 
turned  to  look  at  her,  as  I  come  out  of  the  bed-room,  it  come 
over  me  like  a  flash.  It  is  her  !  And  she  has  come  back  here, 
a  cast-away,  —  a  poor,  shameless  creetur !  I'd  a  died  first, 
Reuben  !  Yes,  laid  down  and  froze  to  death  in  the  snow-storm, 
before  I'd  a  come  back  to  the  very  house  where  I'd  made  so 
much  misery !  I  s'pose  she  knows  her  poor  mother  died  of 

(12) 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  13 

grief ;  and  she'd  got  neither  house  nor  home  to  go  to  when  her 
fine  gentleman  got  tired  of  her,  and  so  had  the  face  to  come 
here.  Reuben,  it's  shameful !  " 

Patience's  whole  frame  fairly  quivered  with  indignation  ;  but 
her  auditor  sat  silent,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands. 

"  Reuben  Wedgewood,"  —  and  a  hand  was  laid  heavily  on  his 
shoulder,  —  "if  you've  got  a  particle  of  spirit,  do  be  a  man, 
and  don't  sit  there  mopin'  like  a  weak  boy  !  Why  don't  you  say 
something ! "  —  and  Patience  turned,  walked  the  floor  excitedly, 
and  in  her  indignation  quite  snuffed  out  the  candle  with  the  old 
iron  snuffers  —  "  Yes,  do  be  a  man,"  she  said,  flinging  down  the 
ct»al  with  which  she  had  re-lighted  it,  "  and  say  something  !  " 

Reuben  glanced  up.  His  face  was  very  pale,  and  his  teeth 
hard  set. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Patience,  what  do  you  want  ?  I  wouldn't 
turn  a  dog  from  my  door,  such  a  night  as  this,  —  much  less  a 
woman !  and  that  woman  —  No,  I  can't  do  it !  "  he  added,  after 
a  choking  pause.  "  You  wouldn't  have  me  send  her  away  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  Patience,  setting  down  the  candle-stick  hard  on 
the  table  ;  "  but  I  did  hope  you'd  got  over  what  happened  five 
years  ago !  Of  course,  I'd  do  for  Mary  Halpine  jest  what  I 
Avould  for  any  poor  suffering  human  creetur  who  come  to  our 
ruff  for  shelter.  I  thank  the  Lord,  he  didn't  make  me  a  hea- 
then !  We'll  keep  her  through  this  cold  storm ;  but  when  it's 
over,  go  she  must,  —  for,  Reuben,  I  can't  look  back  and  see  how 
she  treated  you,  and  then  harbor  her.  But  I'll  jest  ask  her  why 
she  didn't  stay  with  her  fine  gentleman ;  what  she  come  among 
honest  folks  for  !  Oh,  brother,  it  works  me  up  terribly,  when  I 
think  it  all  over  !  and  to  see  how  you  sit  and  mope  there  in.  the 
chimney-corner !  " 

The  farmer  looked  at  his  sister  in  surprise.  Patience  Wedge- 
wood,  usually  the  kindest,  most  forgiving  of  women,  —  his  sister 

2 


14         PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

Patience,  whose  whole  life  had  been  but  a  tissue  of  trials  re- 
ceived, and  gentle  submissions  rendered,  —  the  "Aunt  Patience" 
of  Meadow  Brook,  whose  name  had  passed  into  a  proverb  as 
symbolical  of  her  nature,  —  was  it  indeed  she,  standing  there  on 
the  hearth,  manifesting  such  bitter,  unwomanly  feelings  ? 

But  he  understood  it  all.  The  best  impulses  of  a  true,  tender, 
woman  heart,  were  stifled  momentarily,  in  her  jealous,  watchful 
love  for  the  only  being  she  had  left  on  earth  to  cherish,  —  her 
brother. 

And  yet  it  was  not  wholly  as  the  guardian  of  her  brother's 
wrongs,  that  Patience  Wedgewood  stood,  that  winter  night, 
beside  the  kitchen  fire,  nursing  hard  thoughts  toward  the  poor 
girl  lying  pale  and  ill  in  the  adjoining  room.  There  was 
another  reason,  —  one  that  influences  woman  under  every  cir- 
cumstance like  this,  though  few  there  be  who  care  to  acknowledge 
it ;  for  who  does  not  know  how  hard  it  is  for  her  to  forget  and 
forgive  frailty  in  her  sister-woman? 

She  will'  forget,  or  tolerate  —  and  in  thus  tolerating,  encourage 
error  in  men.  It  is  known,  world-wide,  how  fan*  white  hands 
are  extended  to  welcome  them  into  society ;  how  she  leans  upon 
the  arms,  and  hangs  upon  the  eloquent  words,  of  those  from 
whom  she  should  shrink  with  a  blush ;  and  how  then,  straight- 
way, if  the  Magdalen  —  who,  but  for  the  fascinating  tempter,  to 
whose  accents  she  has  just  listened,  had  stood  to-day  as  fair  and 
pure  as  she  —  crosses  her  path,  then,  with  a  gesture  of  virtuous 
scorn,  she  spurns  her. 

Unwelcome  truth !  But,  sister-woman,  everywhere,  is  it  not 
so? 

Votary  of  fashion,  —  frivolous,  vain  worldling !  —  do  you  not 
look  down  from  your  gilded  height,  and  smile  scornfully  at 
humbled,  abject,  though  perhaps  penitent  beings  below  ?  Say, 
giddy,  kind-hearted,  but  thoughtless  girl,  too  happy  in  your  own 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         15 

light  loves  and  joys,  to  heed  the  agony  of  broken  hearts,  sinking 
into  dust  under  their  weight  of  shame,  what  word  have  you  for 
such  ?  Cold,  purse-proud,  immaculate,  frigid  lady,  who  kneels 
in  carpeted  churches  on  a  velvet  hassock,  and  prays  audibly 
from  a  jewelled  prayer-book,  —  whose  stainless  purity  was  never 
sullied  by  contact  with  such  as  sinned  through  excess  of  love,  — 
when  by  chance  the  unfortunate  falters  across  your  pathway,  do 
you  not  draw  aside  your  spotless  robes,  lest  the  hem  of  your 
garments,  even,  should  have  been  brushed  in  passing  ?  And 
"  last,  not  least,"  you  who  profess  to  be  good,  thoughtful,  Chris- 
tian women,  in  your  easy  (because  approved]  rounds  of  daily 
life,  —  at  your  pleasant  firesides,  where  dwell  the  dear  ones  of 
your  home  circles,  —  at  the  Throne  of  Grace,  even,  —  anywhere, 
eveiywhere,  do  you  find  the  least  corner  reserved  for  such  of 
whom  He  you  call  your  Master  hath  said,  "  Go,  and  sin  no 
more  ?  " 

Aye}  it  is  even  so  ! 

"  Alas  for  the  rarity 
Of  Christian  charity 
Under  the  sun  ! " 

And,  as  Patience  "Wedgewood  stood  there,  revolving  many  con- 
tending thoughts  in  her  mind,  she  gradually  became  conscious 
that  it  would  be  one  of  the  hardest  struggles  of  her  life  to  forgive 
Mary  Halpine. 

Could  she?  No!  surely  not  of  her  own  heart.  But  her 
Father  was  opening,  hi  His  own  way,  a  path  for  that  forgive- 
ness ;  a  new  channel,  wherein  the  womanly  tenderness  of  her 
heart  might  flow  afresh,  and  another  love  brighten  and  soften 
her  life. 

Five  minutes  passed,  and  Patience  still  stood  beside  her 
brother  ;  and  there  was  no  sound  in  the  old  kitchen  but  the  purr 
of  the  kitten  on  the  hearth,  and  the  voice  of  the  clock  in  the  dis- 


16         PEACE:  on  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

tant  corner  —  a  tick,  tick,  now  light  and  uncertain,  now  strong 
and  sharp,  now  muffled  and  deep,  like  the  throbbing  of  Reuben's 
heart.  Memories  that  he  thought  laid  to  sleep  forever  were  torn 
from  their  grave  that  night.  It  had  been  no  light  love  he  had 
borne  that  fair-haired  girl  in  yonder  room  ;  it  had  been  no  easy 
struggle  to  subdue  it  when  it  came  back,  a  cold,  rushing  "  Alpine 
torrent,"  upon  his  own  heart.  Why,  that  night,  had  he  to  live 
it  all  over  again,  —  and  with  the  added  misery  of  beholding  her 
desolation  ? 

A  fault  moan  issued  from  the  bed-room.  Patience  looked  at 
Reuben,  who  raised  his  head.  Their  e/es  met;  hers  with  a 
new,  softer  light  struggling  in  their  still  darkened  depths,  —  his, 
tender  as  a  woman's,  with  the  sadness  of  an  anguished  heart 
breaking  up  through  them. 

"  Go  to  her,  Patience,"  he  said  briefly,  as  another  moan  broke 
the  silence  ;  and,  at  that  cry  of  suffering,  all  the  woman  resumed 
its  sway  over  her  soul.  She  obeyed,  leaving  Reuben  alone  with 
the  faint  fire-light  and  his  own  thoughts. 

As  the  door  shut,  another  low  ciy,  full  of  mental  and  physical 
suffering,  came  from  the  bed  whereon  the  sufferer  lay.  Patience 
went  and  stood  close  beside  the  pillows.  It  was  a  face  of  start- 
ling girlish  beauty  she  gazed  upon  now,  —  the  counterpart  of 
one  which,  five  years  before,  had  often  brightened  the  old  farm- 
house. The  cheeks,  no  longer  marble  pale,  were  crimson  with 
fever ;  the  lips  red  as  the  petals  of  the  damask  rose  in  June- 
time  ;  and  masses  of  rippling  hair,  escaping  from  the  neat  lace 
frilled  cap  under  which  Patience  had  bound  it,  flashed  like 
threads  of  spun  gold  in  the  candle-light ;  but  the  white  forehead 
was  corrugated  with  deep  lines ;  about  the  small,  convulsed 
mouth  lay  an  expression  of  pain,  and  dusky  circles  rimmed  the 
eyes  whose  lids  were  closed  —  their  long  lashes  sweeping  her 
cheeks  below. 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         17 

For  a  few  moments  she  lay  very  still,  then  slowly  unclosed 
her  eyes.  Sad,  almost  despairing,  was  the  gaze  which  sought 
briefly  the  faded,  weather-beaten  face  bending  over  her ;  then 
she  shrank  from  that  scrutinizing  glance,  which  seemed  to  read 
her  soul.  Closing  the  lids  faintly,  one  or  two  tears  were 
crushed  beneath. 

"Patience  Wedgewood,  do  you  know  me?"  she  said,  at 
length,  in  a  whisper,  pulling  up  the  sheet  over  her  as  if  to  screen 
herself  from  the  glance  of  those  searching  eyes. 

"  Mary  Halpine,  I  do  !  "  was  the  reply,  in  a  tone  which  was 
not,  certainly,  intended  for  a  cold  one,  yet  had  but  the  slightest 
quiver  of  compassion  in  it ;  for  the  good  and  evil  angels  were 
fighting  a  hard  battle  in  Patience's  heart. 

The  poor  woman  shrank  away  into  the  farthest  side  of  the 
bed,  and  turned  her  face  to  the  wall.  Did  she  deserve  pity  ?  she 
asked  herself,  —  or  forgiveness,  either  ?  Why,  in  the  hour  of 
her  great  need,  had  she  come  to  that  house?  Why,  instead, 
had  she  not  lain  down  in  the  bitter  cold  of  the  winter  night,  and 
perished?  sunk  on  the  soft  bosom  of  the  yielding  snow,  and, 
dreaming  dreams  of  her  innocent  earlier  days,  so  died  ?  Surely, 
there  was  One  who  would  not  have  looked  upon  her  with  cold, 
freezing,  unpitying  eyes,  —  One  who  never  casts  forth  the  weary 
wanderer ! 

Such,  and  many  other  thoughts,  which  racked  her  soul  even 
more  than  did  physical  suffering  her  feeble  frame,  passed  through 
the  poor  girl's  brain  like  lightning  flashes ;  and  the  weary  con- 
flict brought  faintness  and  exhaustion. 

Patience  saw  it  all.  In  the  aggravated  sufferings  of  the  poor 
being  before  her,  she  forgot  hard  thoughts  and  hoarded  resent- 
ment, and  the  best  impulses  of  her  nature  found  sway.  She 
rapidly  bathed  the  pallid  temples ;  administered  invigorating 
•  cordials ;  called  back  the  life  which  had  almost  wandered  from 

2* 


18         PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

those  white  lips ;  and  then,  replenishing  the  fire,  and  drawing 
the  full  chintz  curtains  about  the  windows,  went  out  into  the 
kitchen,  and,  laying  her  hand  upon  her  brother's  arm,  said, 
pointing  to  the  bed-room : 

"  Poor  thing !  Reuben,  you  must  harness  up  and  go  after  the 
doctor.  But  first  bring  old  Nurse  Dean  over.  Wrap  up  well, 
brother  ;  for  it's  a  bitter  cold  night.  Poor  Maiy  Halpine ! 
Reuben,  I  was  wicked  in  keeping  such  bitterness  in  my  heart 
against  her/  God  forgive  me  !  " 

The  farmer  started  up  from  his  seat.  Were  there  tears  in 
Patience's  eyes  ?  They  stood  in  his  own,  as  he  turned  away, 
and  drew  on  his  thick  boots  and  overcoat.  The  hand  which  took 
down  the  old  tin  lantern  from  a  nail  over  the  fire-place,  trem- 
bled ;  and  the  voice  was  husky  which  said,  "  Come,  Bruno,"  to 
the  huge  mastiff,  who  rose  from  his  slumbers,  rubbed  his  shaggy 
head  against  his  master's  hand,  and  then  followed  him  out  into 
the  cold  winter  night. 


CHAPTER    III. 

Reader,  do  you  know  how  we  may  live  and  suffer  while  the  business  of 
life  goes  regularly  on,  giving  no  token  of  the  tears  that  are  silently  shed  ? 

ANN  S.  STEPHENS. 

IT  was  a  quiet  life  they  lived  there — bachelor  brother  and 
maiden  sister  —  in  the  old  farm-house  at  the  Ridge.  Year  in 
and  out,  the  months  came  and  went,  and  time  touched  them  very 
lightly.  But  for  the  few  wrinkles  that  crept  upon  a  face  which, 
somehow,  these  many  latter  years,  had  seemed  old  and  faded, 
and  the  gradual  silvering  of  Patience's  hair,  —  the  sprinkle  of 
gray  which  had  also  fallen  on  Reuben's  head,  and  the  crow's- 
feet  that  came  at  the  corners  of  his  deep-set,  gray  eyes,  —  but 
for  these  tokens,  the  good  dwellers  of  Meadow  Brook  would 
scarce  have  thought  that  the  brother  and  sister  were  getting  to 
be  old,  so  quietly,  and  unmarked  by  any  stirring  outward  event, 
had  their  lives  passed. 

Time  lapses  very  lightly  to  the  dwellers  in  quiet  country 
places.  Nature,  whose  communion  is  like  a  mother's,  helps  to 
keep  the  heart  young.  Each  shifting  season  brings  its  own  les- 
son. As,  in  the  spring-time,  the  earth  is  bared  to  the  hand  of 
the  sower,  so,  in  human  hearts,  Love,  Hope,  and  Faith,  sow  lib- 
eral seed.  Summer,  fervid  and  sultry,  with  fair  bending  skies, 
is  oftenest  rich  in  promise  of  a  full  fruition  of  loves  and  joys, 
though  sometimes,  alas !  it  brings  the  blight  of  the  withering 
drought,  —  when  every  green  thing  fails  us,  —  the  water-courses 
are  dried  up,  and  there  is  neither  hope  nor  consolation.  In 
autumn,  standing  amid  ripened  sheaves,  we  say,  pridefullj^  "  Lo, 

(19) 


20         PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

this  is  the  harvest  of -our  own  planting ! "  and  sit  down  to  enjoy 
the  fruit  of  our  labor ;  and  then,  even  as  the  year  wanes  to  its 
death,  and  the  snows  weave  a  shroud  over  earth's  bosom,  and 
nature  lapses  into  its  long  winter  sleep,  so  weary,  white-haired 
old  age  lies  quietly  down  to  his  rest. 

But  for  both  there  comes  a  resurrection  !  As,  in  the  rushing 
spring-floods,  winter's  icy  fetters  are  loosened,  snow  wreaths  are 
dissolved,  and  buds  and  flowers  spring  up  in  their  stead,  —  so,  in 
the  tides  of  that  Death-river,  through  which  the  old  man's  feet 
must  wade,  the  frosts  of  hoary  hairs  are  melted,  and  youth's  am- 
ber locks  are  restored !  He  plants  his  foot  firmly  on  the  thither 
shore,  where  another  spring-time  reigns  with  amaranthine 
bloom ;  and  his  heart  keeps  young,  and  fresh,  and  vernal,  for- 
ever —  in  the  sweet  May-clime  of  Heaven  ! 

In  the  pleasant  country  make  our  home !  From  the  heats, 
turmoils,  and  cares  of  crowded  cities ;  from  the  eager  jostle,  and 
cankering  heartburnings  of  the  great  world-strife,  they  who 
dwell  among  blooming  flowers,  green  fields,  running-brooks,  and 
all  of  Nature's  beautiful  things,  are  delivered.  Bless  God  for 
the  cool,  the  still,  and  pleasant  country  ! 

And  so,  where  the  years  glide  quietly,  had  they  passed,  to 
Reuben  and  Patience  Wedgewood. 

Every  spring  the  violets  opened  their  blue  eyes  to  peep 
timidly  from  the  shelter  of  mossy  rocks,  on  green  knolls,  or  the 
southern  slopes  of  grassy  meadows  ;  the  fox-glove,  white  ane- 
mone, and  pink  and  white  trailing  arbutus,  blossomed  in  quiet 
forest-paths ;  the  yellow  king's-cup  stood  all  along  the  country 
roadsides,  and  graceful  brake-leaves  and  sweet-fern  grew  near 
old,  mossy  stone  walls  ;  lilacs  put  forth  their  purple  sprays,  and 
flowers  budded  in  Aunt  Patience's  garden; — then,  the  June 
days  grew  warm  and  long,  and  the  sunshine  slept  goldenly  on  the 
wide  country  meadows ;  the  summer  heats  fell,  ripening  the 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        21 

herdsgrass  and  fragrant  clover ;  at  sunset,  banks  of  gold  and 
crimson  piled  high  the  western  horizon,  and  the  two  tall  poplars, 
before  the  farm-house  at  the  Ridge,  flickered  their  long,  leafy 
arms  to  and  fro  like  blazing  firebrands  ;  — ;  beautiful  September, 
when  summer  lingers  to  dally  in  the  lap  of  autumn,  came  and 
went,  followed  by  mild,  rich  fruited  October,  with  woods  of 
gold  and  fire,  harvest  moon,  and  "  harvest  home,"  —  and  then 
old  winter  brought  his  tributes  of  snows  and  sleets  and  icy  airs 
without,  while  good  cheer  and  comfort  and  blazing  hearths  held 
sway  within. 

And  thus  the  years  had  come  and  gone,  till  Aunt  Patience 
had  turned  fifty,  and  Reuben  "Wedgewood  had  passed  his 
fortieth  year.  —  And  yet  it  seemed  but  a  day,  since  the  girl  of 
eighteen  stood  beside  her  mother's  death-bed  with  a  hallowed 
promise  on  her  lips !  a  promise  that  she  would  fill  a  mother's 
place  to  the  frail,  ten-year-old-child,  —  "poor  lame  Katy," — who 
clung  weeping,  to  that  dying  parent.  Over  thirty  years  since 
then,  and  yet  it  seemed  but  a  day!  Lame  Katy  had  slept 
beside  her  mother,  in  the  grave-yard,  these  twenty-five  years,  — 
but,  to  Patience,  she  was  still  the  pale,  slender  girl,  whom  she 
had  cai'ried  in  her  arms,  and  soothed  to  sleep  on  her  bosom. 
O,  Patience,  when,  with  sobs  you  laid  her  from  your  breast, 
where  her  head  should  be  pillowed  no  more,  did  you  think  the 
years  could  come  and  go  so  rapidly  ? 

But  had  time  passed  as  happily,  as  fleetly,  to  the  brother  and 
sister?  What  shadows  could  have  fallen  athwart  Reuben's  path- 
way ?  Did  not  the  "  Ridge  Farm"  extend  over  many  well-tilled 
acres  ?  Was  he  not  "  forehanded"  in  the  world  —  prospering 
both  in  his  basket  and  his  store  ?  —  And  the  kind-hearted,  even- 
tempered  maiden  sister ;  the  economical,  thrifty,  neat  house- 
keeper ;  the  pattern  of  good  neighbors,  and  the  universal  "  aunt" 
of  Meadow  Brook  —  had  she  ever  known  troubles  in  her 
pleasant  home? 


22        PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

All !  yes,  yes  !     Was  there  ever  life  without  them  ? 

There  were  people  in  Meadow  Brook  who  could  remember, 
how,  many .  years  ago,  when  Patience  Wedge  wood  was  young 
and  handsome,  with  glossy  black  hair,  and  cheeks  red  as  wild 
roses,  she  had  been  the  pride  and  toast  of  all  the  county.  At 
ball,  husking,  or  quilting,  there  had  been  no  girl  lighter  of  foot, 
with  brighter  eye  or  merrier  laugh,  than  she.  They  remem- 
bered, too,  how  she  had  a  lover  in  those  days,  —  a  favored  one 
from  the  many  who  paid  her  court,  —  who  rode  very  often  from 
his  fine  farm,  at  the  "  Cross- Roads,"  over  to  the  Ridge,  and 
fastening  his  great  roan  colt  at  old  Mr.  Wedgewood's  gate,  went 
in,  ostensibly  to  talk  of  "the  crops,"  with  the  farmer,  but  in 
reality  to  gaze  at  Patience's  red  cheeks,  and  exchange  a  little 
chit-chat  with  her  in  a  sly  manner,  —  which  usually  ended  in 
asking  her  company  to  the  singing  school  or  some  merry-making 
at  "the  village; — how  attentive  he  was,  until  Patience's  mother, 
dying,  had  bequeathed  little  lame  Katy  to  her  care,  bidding  her 
never  leave  her;  —  and  then,  when  Patience  told  him,  that, 
when  she  married,  she  must  bring  Katy  with  her — for  she  could 
not  break  her  promise  to  her  dead  mother — he  demurred;  — 
and  afterward,  when  old  Mr.  Wedgewood  died  suddenly,  and 
upon  settlement  of  affairs  the  farm  was  found  to  be  involved, 
this  base  lover  —  James  Con  way  —  neglected  her,  and  finally 
broke  his  vows,  and  went  away  and  married  a  rich  girl  who 
brought  him  a  fine  dowry,  accompanied  also,  by  a  passionate 
temper  and  an  unruly  tongue,  which  embittered  his  days ;  — 
they  remembered  all  this,  and  how,  from  that  time,  Patience 
grew  old,  and  faded  fast,  and  seldom  went  out,  but  devoted  her- 
self to  her  sister  and  brother ;  —  how,  a  few  years  later,  little 
lame  Katy  died ;  and,  at  twenty-five,  a  sad,  reserved  woman, 
looking  full  ten  years  older  than  she  really  was,  —  she  turned 
to  her  boy-brother,  and  vowed,  henceforth,  to  devote  her  life  to 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         23 

him  ;  refusing  the  offers  of  many  others  who  would  gladly  have 
won  her,  saying,  calmly :  "  I  have  got  my  duty  to  do  here.  I 
shall  never  marry  ! " 

Yes,  there  were  many  who  remembered  those  days,  and 
acknowledged  her  worth ;  though  some,  young  and  thoughtless, 
called  her  "  old-maid,"  little  appreciating  the  noble  self-sacrifice 
which  made  her  such.  But  she,  whose  life  had  been  so  rich  in 
quiet  worth  and  deeds  of  humble  beauty,  could  well  afford  to 
wear  that  name.  She,  who  sacrificed  her  dreams  of  wedded 
bliss  that  she  might  fulfil  her  vow  to  a  dying  mother  —  who  was 
like  a  mother  to  the  lame  girl,  carrying  the  little  frail  form  in 
her  arms,  watching  over  her  day  and  night  until  she  died  upon 
her  bosom  —  she,  the  "  old-maid,"  for  whom  our  world  would 
be  better  if  there  were  more  such,  could  well  afford  to  wear  a 
name  which  was,  to  her,  an  honor,  and  a  crown  of  glory. 

Good  Old  Aunt  Patience !  So  sure  as  every  throb  of  thy 
kind  heart  was  numbered,  —  every  trial  and  struggle  noted  by 
One,  who  sits  above  and  seeth  and  knoweth  all,  thou  hast,  ere 
this,  met  thy  reward  ! 

And  Reuben  Wedgewood,  too !  In  his  younger  days,  when 
there  was  no  "  smarter,"  "  likelier"  man  in  all  the  county ;  or 
later,  when  the  incumbrances  on  the  farm  were  cleared  off,  and 
he  had  grown  "  well  to  do,"  as  farmers  say,  in  this  world's 
v/ealth,  —  why  had  he  not  brought  a  wife  to  share  his  home,  and 
relieve  his  sister  from  a  portion  of  her  cares  ?  Ah  !  —  this  had 
been  no  secret  in  Meadow  Brook,  either.  Let  us  see  ! 

In  his  early  youth,  Reuben  had  been  shy  and  bashful, — fonder 
of  the  fireside,  and  Patience's  society,  than  of  rustic  merry- 
makings ;  and  then,  on  coming  of  age,  he  had  devoted  himself 
assiduously  to  paying  up  the  mortgage  on  the  farm,  assisted  by 
his  single-hearted  sister,  who  spun,  and  wove,  and  went  to  market 
with  the  products  of  her  dairy  ;  saving  up  all  her  earnings  for 


24        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

this  one  object ;  —  and  so  his  youth  and  early  manhood  passed, 
and  when  the  shady  side  of  thirty  saw  him  unmarried,  Reuben 
was  set  down  as  a  confirmed  bachelor. 

But  after  a  few  years,  the  people  of  Meadow  Brook  were 
surprised  to  hear  that  he  was  shortly  to  bring  a  mistress  to  the 
Ridge —  and  no  other  than  little  Mary  Halpine,  scarce  turned 
eighteen,  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  whole  village  !  Pretty,  but 
poor ;  for  her  mother  was  the  widow  of  a  broken  trader,  and 
rented  one  of  Reuben's  tenements,  a  little,  brown  cottage  at  the 
village,  where  she  and  Mary  eked  out  a  support  by  their 
needles.  And  so,  at  thirty-five,  the  farmer  met  the  village- 
beauty  —  and  lost  his  heart ! 

With  fair  golden  hair,  violet  eyes,  and  faultless  features ;  a 
slight,  graceful  form,  and  a  refinement  of  manner  he  had  never 
seen  in  the  country  maidens  round  about  —  she  seemed  to  the 
bashful  bachelor,  far  above  him,  and  for  months  he  worshipped 
at  a  distance.  But,  at  length,  fortune  aided  him  ;  for  Mrs.  Hal- 
pine,  rejoicing  that  her  daughter  had  attracted  the  attention  of  so 
estimable,  upright,  and  "  forehanded"  a  man  as  Mr.  Wedgewood, 
openly  encouraged  him ;  nor  was  it  long  before  the  fair  Maiy 
grew  less  shy,  and  received  him  with  favor,  —  and  by  and  by, 
one  sweet  summer  evening  returning  from  the  Ridge,  whither 
she  had  been  invited  by  Aunt  Patience,  with  a  score  of  village 
girls,  to  spend  the  afternoon — walking  slowly  down  the  quiet 
country  road  with  Reuben  at  her  side  —  he  asked  her  to  become 
his  wife  !  —  and,  blushing  confusedly,  she  whispered  assent!  In 
autumn  she  Avould  go  to  the  Ridge,  as  his  wife. 

But  when  October,  with  its  golden  days  and  harvest-home, 
had  come  and  gone  ;  when  gray  November,  with  frowning  skies 
without  but  blazing  wood-fires  within,  had  just  unfolded  her 
tablets  ;  when  Patience's  hard,  horny,  but  willing  hands,  had 
burnished  and  brightened  anew  the  old  farm-house,  arranged 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         25 

everything  from  garret  to  cellar,  opened  linen  presses  whose 
contents  had  been  accumulating  for  years,  draped  anew  the  high- 
posted  bed  in  the  spare  chamber,  and  spread  a  bright  rag-carpet 
of  her  own  weaving,  on  the  floor  of  the  "  west  room,"  —  filled 
the  buttery  with  stores  of  -good  things,  polished  the  pewter  on 
the  dressers  till  it  shone  like  silver,  set  out  the  old-fashioned, 
delicate  pink  china,  scoured  and  sanded  the  kitchen  floor,  and 
wound  fresh  wreaths  of  winter-green  brightened  with  scarlet 
wax-berries,  about  the  tall  eight-day  clock  in  the  corner — when, 
in  short,  the  house  was  all  swept  and  garnished  for  the  reception 
of  the  fair  girl-bride,  the  faithful  sister  —  her  tasks  over  —  sat 
down  on  the  settle  in  the  chimney-place  to  rest,  and  said,  with 
a  half-sigh  :  "  Well,  brother  Reuben  will  be  happier,  I  hope ! " 
Then,  when  the  stalwart  farmer,  bronzed  with  his  year's  harvest 
toil,  came  from  his  fields  and  granaries,  and,  looking  around  on 
the  ready  house,  said  :  "  I  will  bring  a  fair  flower  here,  to 
brighten  it, "  —  when  the  wedding-day  was  set,  and  all  things 
were  in  readiness,  —  then  came  a  terrible,  stunning  blow  ! 

Mary,  sweet  Mary  Halpine,  was  lost  to  him  forever  !  Not 
dead  —  he  could  have  borne  that!  —  could  have  looked  upon 
her  young  face  under  the  coffin-lid,  and  lain  her  away  in  the 
grave,  though  his  heart  had  well  nigh  broken  !  But  it  was  bit- 
terer, far,  than  death,  the  way  in  which  she  was  lost  to  him ! 

And  then  the  whole  story  was  told.  She  had  left  him  for 
another  ! 

During  the  last  month  of  the  summer  that  was  past,  a  hand- 
some young  stranger  had  boarded  at  the  principal  tavern  of 
Meadow  Brook.  Day  after  day  had  he  been  seen  wandering 
through  the  woods,  with  sketch-book  or  fishing-rod  in  hand ;  for 
whole  hours  he  fished  from  the  banks  of  some  bright,  clear  trout- 
stream  winding  among  the  meadows  and  woodlands ;  or  pencilled 
some  exquisite  bit  of  scenery,  where  the  dense -foliage  cast  deep, 

3 


26        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

Rembrant  shadows,  or  a  white,  foaming  cascade  leaped  down  a 
rocky  precipice, — but  not  alone  the  charms  those  forest- wilds  held 
out  to  the  angler  and  the  artist,  lured  him  there  —  for  there,  too, 
had  he  tempted  sweet  Mary  Halpine  to  meet  him !  Their  acquaint- 
ance, which  commenced  at  a  village  pic-nic  a  few  weeks  before, 
had  progressed  by  means  of  visits  to  the  cottage  whither  he  had 
gone,  ostensibly  to  employ  the  mother  in  her  capacity  of  seam- 
stress ;  but  the  prudent  Mrs.  Halpine  read  his  admiration  for  the 
daughter,  and  lost  no  time  in  making  it  understood  that  Mary 
was  a  promised  wife. 

But  what  cared  the  stranger  that  he  went  no  more  to  the  cot- 
tage, so  long  as  Mary  could  be  induced  to  meet  him  in  the 
shady  forest-paths,  walk  with  him  for  hours,  sit  beside  him  on 
the  banks  of  the  brook  while  he  sketched,  or  listened  to  his 
words  of  delicate  flattery,  as  he  wove  oak-leaves  and  scarlet 
cardinal  flowers  into  wreaths  for  her  sunny  hair  ?  Augustus 
Revere  knew  only  too  well  the  heart  of  woman  to  despair* of 
winning  that  fair  girl  who,  with  flushing  cheek  and  brightened 
eye,  met  him  there.  Such  fresh,  dewy  hearts  he  had  won 
before,  and  broken,  too,  —  for,  though  young  in  years,  at  heart  he 
was  an  old,  hackneyed  man  of  the  world. 

And  alas !  for  the  credulous  girl !  We  need  not  tell  how  his 
beauty,  elegance  and  grace,  with  the  gallant,  chivalrous  devotion 
of  his  manner,  won  her  heart  away.  It  was  the  old  story  over 
again ;  a  story  that  will  always  be  repeated  so  long  as  women 
are  trusting,  and  men  are  deceivers ;  and  Mary  Halpine  was  no 
wiser  or  better  than  others  who,  from  listening  learned  to  be- 
lieve —  from  believing,  loved  —  from  loving,  fell !  Fascinated 
with  tales  of  a  love,  so  like  that  of  which  she  had  read  in  old 
romances,  where  gallant  knights  wooed  fair  ladyes  in  the 
quiet  "  green  wood  shade  ; "  contrasting  this  elegant  dark-eyed 
lover,  and  his  ardent,  passionate  protestations  —  clothed  in  the 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         27 

choicest  diction,  —  with  the  sturdy,  broad-shouldered,  toil- 
hardened  Reuben,  and  his  honest,  no  doubt  heart-felt,  but 
common-place  love-sayings,  it  was  little  wonder  that  the  young 
girl,  blinded  by  a  passion  which  grew  rapidly  and  swayed  her 
whole  being,  forgot  the  manly  devotion  of  a  true  heart,  forgot 
honor  and  plighted  vows  —  and  broke  her  faith  ! 

Yet  not  without  a  struggle  had  she  yielded.  We  will  do 
Mary  Halpine  the  justice  to  say  that,  when  Augustus  Revere 
first  whipsered  his  protestations,  she  recoiled.  Ah !  had  she  fled 
then  !  But,  hesitatingly,  she  lingered  —  and,  again,  listened ! 

What  poor,  fluttering,  charmed  bird,  gazing  at  the  serpent, 
but  falls,  at  length,  into  its  coiling  embrace  ?  What  woman,  for- 
getting duty  and  honor,  listens  to  the  tale  of  forbidden  worship, 
and  escapes  unharmed  ? 

"  Go  away,  and  leave  me !  I  dare  not,  must  not  listen  !  I 
am  the  promised  wife  of  another ! "  she  said,  covering  her  crim- 
soned face  with  her  small  white  hands. 

"  "  Yes,  promised  to  a  miserable  clod  of  a  farmer  !  A  piece 
of  dull  earth,  whose  heart  is  set  upon  his  fat  oxen  and  his  crops ! 
No,  Mary,  by  heaven !  he  shall  not  have  such  an  exquisite  piece 
of  nature's  porcelain  as  you  !  The  bright,  gay  world  has  need 
of  such  —  let  me  take  you  there !  —  It  is  no  sin  to  break  an 
engagement  like  yours ;  there  is  neither  heart  nor  soul  in  it.  —  By 
and  by  he  will  get  him  a  wife  from  among  these  rough  country 
girls  ;  one  better  fitted  for  milking  his  cows,  and  the  toils  of  his 
farm-house,  than  a  delicate  blossom  like  you.  Do  not  fear  for 
your  mother's  consent;  she  will  be  proud  of  you  when  you 
come  back  my  wife.  Mary,  darling  —  tell  me  you  will  be 
mine  !  "  So  he  pleaded. 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  It  is  wicked !  I  mustn't  stay  here  !  Let  me 
go  ! "  she  cried. 

"  Then  you  will  condemn  me  to  a  life-time  of  misery  ?    Mary, 


28        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

you  are  cruel ! "  —  and  the  wily  man  softened  his  voice ;  "  but 
I  cannot  go  away  and  forget  you.  Though  I  resign  you,  I  can 
never  banish  your  image  from  my  heart ;  and  must  this  be  our 
last  interview  ?  Oh,  no,  in  pity,  Mary,  grant  me  another.  To- 
morrow I  leave  this  quiet  country  village ;  but  I  shall  come  back 
once,  again,  to  bid  you  good-bye  forever.  You  will  not  refuse 
me  that  f  —  promise  me ! " 

And  Mary  promised.  But  what  need  to  add  more  ?  Only  will 
we  say,  that,  while  the  weeks  went  by,  and  the  preparations  for 
the  marriage  were  speeding,  Mary  Halpine  went  about  like  one 
in  a  dream  —  but  with  a  terrible  remorse  at  her  heart ;  lacking 
courage,  and,  alas!  all  too  unwilling  to  confess  her  fault.  And 
when  the  golden  Indian  summer  had  faded,  then  her  lover  came, 
secretly  and  quietly ;  and,  in  the  hush  of  a  night  just  one  week 
preceding  that  appointed  for  the  wedding,  she  bent  for  a  moment 
above  her  sleeping  mother's  pillow  —  then  stole  out  into  the 
shivering  woods  to  meet  her  fate. 

"Was  it  wonder  that  when  they  told  him,  Reuben  Wedgewood 
crushed  under  his  heel  the  plain  gold  wedding-ring  he  had  pur- 
chased for  Mary's  slender  finger!  —  burned  a  lock  of  sunny  hair! 
—  his  brow  grew  dark  and  stern  !  and  henceforth  her  name  was 
never  spoken  in  the  old  farm-house  ? 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Thou  art  fickle  as  the  sea ;  thou  art  wandering  as  the  wind  ; 
And  the  restless,  ever-mounting  flame,  is  not  more  hard  to  bind. 
If  the  tears  I  shed  were  tongues,  yet  all  too  few  would  be 

To  tell  of  all  the  treachery  that  thou  hast  shown  to  me. 

BRYANT. 

IT  was  an  elegant  apartment  of  the  Astor  House  which  with 
the  romancist's  privilege,  we  will  take  the  liberty  of  visiting. 
Every  appointment  of  its  furnishing  was  luxurious.  The  carpet 
was  of  the  choicest  texture,  velvet  soft ;  voluminous  curtains  of 
brocatelle  draped  the  windows  ;  pier-glasses  multiplied  the 
Parian  and  bronze  mantel  ornaments,  candelabras,  Bohemian 
and  Etruscan  vases,  marble  brackets,  gilt  framed  pictures,  and 
other  adornments  of  the  room.  An  elegant  inlaid  table  was  cov- 
ered with  richly  bound  books  and  portfolios  of  drawings,  and  an 
open  piano  strewn  with  sheet  music ;  low,  crimson  velvet  cov- 
ered lounges  and  tabourets  stood  about  the  walls;  a  Psyche 
and  Hebe  filled  niches  between  two  bay  windows  ;  a  coal  fire 
glowed -in  the  grate,  —  for  the  evening  was  a  cold,  wet,  stormy 
one,  —  and  cast  a  cheerful,  ruddy  glare  over  the  room. 

Before  the  grate,  in  a  large  crimson  velvet  covered  reception 
chair,  his  feet  carelessly  thrust  into  a  pair  of  embroidered  slip- 
pers, clad  in  an  elegant  dressing-gown  and  Turkish  smoking-cap, 
with  the  slender,  white  fingers  of  one  hand  supporting  the  stem 
,of  his  quaint  German  meerschaum,  and  the  other  buried  in  the 
long  curls  of  his  hair,  while  his  elbow  rested  on  a  table  drawn  up 
close  beside  him,  on  which  stood  an  elegant  cut-glass  decanter 

3*  (29) 


30         PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

and  two  slender  wine-glasses  in  a  silver  tray,  sat  the  master  of 
this  sumptuous  room  —  Augustus  Revere. 

Let  us  survey  him  as  he  sits  indolently  reclining  there,  his 
head  thrown  back  against  the  chair,  and  the  radiance  of  the 
lighted  candelabra  flooding  his  face.  Now  he  has  lain  aside  his 
pipe,  tosses  his  tasselled  smoking-cap  to  the  table,  and  again  set- 
tles back  in  the  luxurious  depths  of  his  chair,  apparently  in  a 
dreamy  reverie ;  while  the  howling  winter  winds  without,  and 
the  icy  sleet  beating  against  the  windows,  enhanced  the  enjoy- 
ment of  light  and  warmth  within. 

His  form  is  slight,  but  of  tall,  well-knit,  and  elegant  propor- 
tions. His  hand  is  white  and  delicate  as  a  lady's ;  and  on  one 
of  the  slender  fingers  thrust  among  his  brown  curls,  a  diamond 
ring  gleams  in  a  splendid  setting.  His  face  is  strikingly  hand- 
some, so  far  as  a  regular  cast  of  features  goes  to  constitute 
beauty.  A  high  forehead ;  aquiline  nose,  with  thin,  proud  nos- 
trils ;  small,  well-cut  mouth,  with  full  red  lips,  almost  feminine 
in  their  expression,  save  for  rigid  curves  about  them,  betokening 
a  strength  of  will  not  easily  attained  by  woman ;  and  a  firm 
rounded  chin,  shaded  by  a  dark,  glossy,  and  delicately  curling 
moustache. 

It  is  a  handsome,  manly  face,  certainly,  thrown  in  full  relief 
against  the  dark  background  of  the  deep  crimson  chair,  and  one 
upon  which  you  would  be  Jikely  to  turn  to  look  a  second  tune  ; 
and  then  you  would  observe  what  you  .  did  not  at  first,  —  how 
there  are  deep  lines  outward  from  the  eyes  to  the  white  tem- 
ples, and  a  fulness  to  the  lips,  betokening  not  only  inflexibility 
of  will,  but  a  love  for  sensuous  pleasures ;  and  the  somewhat 
scornful  curve  of  the  short  upper  lip,  seems  almost  a  sneer.  If 
he  smiled,  —  as  he  did  often  during  his  reverie,  —  you  would 
think  it  a  wondrous  fascinating  smile  ;  but  there  was  a  glittering 
chill  in  it,  —  the  polished,  cold  brilh'ancy  of  ice.  His  eyes  were 


PEACE :    OB   THE    STOLEN    WILL.  ^  31 

blue ;  not  moist,  warm,  tender  blue  eyes,  whose  glance  has  a 
soul  in  it,  but  the  dull,  hard  gleam  of  untempered  steel.  And, 
as  he  sat  there,  with  the  fire-light  illumining  his  countenance, 
the  thoughts  revolving  in  his  mind  left  no  trace  on  his  features, 
nor  were  mirrored  in  his  unspeaking  eyes. 

There  are  those  who  can  turn  the  key  on  heart  and  brain. 
In  those  inner  laboratories  they  forge  out  thoughts,  concoct 
schemes,  and  link  together  the  purposes  which  guide  their  out- 
ward lives  among  men.  In  the  crucible  of  the  brain  they  melt 
and  fuse  all  the  subtle  elements  of  their  nature  together.  Pride, 
Passion,  Love,  Hate,  Hope,  and  Fear,  by  turns  are  cast  into  the 
bubbling  cauldron,  each  to  work  its  own  part  in  transmuting  all 
passing  events  into  their  philosopher's  stone  —  Success  ! 

So  was  it  with  Augustus  Revere.  The  brain  working  in  that 
graceful  head  was  clear,  acute,  and  subtle  ;  the  heart  beating 
under  that  polished,  elegant  exterior,  hard  and  unyielding  when 
it  conflicted  with  his  Will ;  those  blue  eyes,  which  could  counter- 
feit the  softest,  tenderest  emotions  when  woman's  heart  was  to 
be  won,  could  also  grow  stern,  and  freezing,  and  pitiless ;  those 
fingers  idly  thrust  into  his  rich  brown  curls,  had  clasped  other 
fingers  scarce  whiter  or  slenderer,  —  leading  fair,  trusting  crea- 
tures into  paths  whose  end  was  moral  death ;  then  idly  flung 
them  off,  to  wander  their  downward  way  alone,  while  he  went 
back  to  society,  to  be  petted  and  courted  anew.  For  this  man 
was,  what  the  reader  has  doubtless,  ere  this,  surmised,  —  one  of 
that  numerous  class  who  infest  society,  sit  at  rich  men's  tables, 
converse  with  theirwives  and  daughters,  bow  deferentially  to 
Fifth  Avenue  dwellers,  kiss  their  white-gloved  fingers  to  Broad- 
way belles,  encircle  their  slender  waists  in  the  waltz  at  festivals, 
drive  fast  horses,  and  give  champagne  suppers  to  a  host  of  "  good 
fellows  "  in  upper-tendom  ;  ostensibly  meeting  his  expenses  by 
remittances  from  an  old  East  Indian  nabob  uncle,  whose  heir 


32  •  PEACE  :     OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

prospective  he  stood  ;  ostensibly  this,  but  in  reality  a  roue,  gam- 
bler, and  adventurer. 

At  twenty-five,  Augustus  Revere  was  old.  His  career  had 
begun  early.  At  nineteen,  expelled  from  college,  —  where  his 
father,  an  honest,  hard-working  farmer,  committing  the  common 
error  of -wishing  to  make  his  only  son  "a  gentleman,"  had 
placed  him  with  an  unlimited  command  of  money  at  his  disposal, 
—  he  betook  himself  to  a  wider  sphere  of  action ;  and,  ere  his 
twenty-third  year,  had  broken  his  father's  heart,  gotten  the  rem- 
nant of  his  patrimony  into  his  own  hands,  and  finally,  lost  all  the 
freshness  of  truth  and  honor  in  the  labyrinthine  mazes  of  wicked- 
ness in  a  great  city. 

With  a  naturally  superior  mind,  talents  of  a  high  order,  ele- 
gant person  and  gentlemanly  address,  —  the  keenest  of  percep- 
tive faculties,  aided  by  an  indomitable  will  and  a  sort  of  natural 
patrician  pride,  that  well  accorded  with  his  haughty  personal 
beauty,  —  he  took  good  care  that,  while,  his  occupation  remained 
unsuspected,  he  gradually  worked  his  way  upward  into  the 
higher  circles  of  society.  This  was  accomplished,  partially  by 
fastening  himself  on  dissolute  scions  of  aristocratic  families,  whom 
he  met  at  gambling-saloons  and  aided  from  his  own  purse  —  for 
he  was  a  most  skilful  player ;  for  the  rest,  his  artfully  concocted 
tale  of  the  nabob  East  Indian  uncle,  secured  him  the  coveted 
entree  into  circles  where  his  consummate  tact,  elegant  person, 
and  fascinating  address  detained  him,  a  welcome  guest. 

On  the  stormy  night  in  question,  Augustus  Revere  evidently 
enjoyed  the  warmth  and  cheerful  seclusion  of  his  elegant  parlor ; 
for  he  indolently  lifted  his  head  from  the  softly-cushioned  chair- 
back,  listened  a  moment  to  the  howling  storm,  and  then  sunk 
into  his  old  attitude,  with  a  self-satisfied,  complacent  smile  upon 
his  lips. 

It  was  a  wild  night,  and  the  fiercest  of  storms  was  abroad. 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         33 

Down  the  streets  and  alleys  of  the  great  city  the  wind  rushed 
like  an  angry,  howling  air-demon.  Round  every  square  and 
corner,  into  every  court  and  passage,  it  went  r&oaning  and  sob- 
bing, —  seeking  shelter,  yet  finding  none  —  the  homeless  wind  ! 

But  few  were  abroad,  and  those  impelled  by  necessity  ;  for  pow- 
erful indeed  must  be  the  motive  which  tempts  men  from  warm, 
cheerful  firesides  to  encounter  driving  sleet  and  biting  winter 
winds.  The  darkness  had  set  in  early,  making  the  evening 
seem  long ;  and  when  the  French  clock  on  the  mantel  of  Augus- 
tus Revere's  parlor  struck  eight,  he  started  from  his  reverie, 
drew  forth  his  gold  repeater  to  compare  it  with  the  clock,  and 
rose  with  a  yawn,  exclaiming,  "  Hang  it !  how  deuced  slow  the 
time  goes  !  "What  can  a  fellow  do  to  amuse  Himself  ?  " 

Turning  to  the  table,  he  poured  a  glass  of  wine,  held  it  up  a 
moment  between  his  eyes  and  the  light,  watching  the  beaded 
foam  on  the  ruby  wave,  —  quaffed  it  off ;  then  thrust  his  feet 
firmly  into  his  slippers,  and,  crossing  the  floor,  seated  himself  at 
the  piano  and  lightly  dashed  off  a  popular  opera  air  which  he 
hummed  the  while. 

Suddenly  he  broke  off  in  the  middle,  wheeled  round  on  the 
music  stool,  and  going  to  a  window  drew  aside  the  heavy  cur- 
tains with  one  white  hand,  and  looked  out  into  the  night. 

"  Confound  it !  how  dark !  Black  as  Erebus  !  and  such  a  wet 
night,  too  !  Can't  put  a  foot  out  doors  ;  nor  will  any  of  the  club 
venture  up  here,  I  dare  say.  Were  it  not  for  the  storm,  I'd 
draw  on  a  pair  of  new  kids,  order  a  carriage,  and  call  on  Jule ; 
but  the  most  devoted  lover  couldn't  find  a  shadow  of  excuse  for 
stirring  out  such  a  night.  So,  I've  nothing  left  but  to  take 
another  smoke  and  go  to  bed ! "  —  and  he  went  back  to  his  easy 
chair,  replenished  the  bowl  of  his  meerschaum,  and  sank  into 
his  old  indolent  attitude. 

Hardly  had  the  smoke-wreaths  begun  to  encircle  his  head,  ere 


34         PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

a  tap  came  at  his  door.  The  waiter  put  his  head  in,  with  "  Mr. 
Golding,  sir." 

"Ah,  Hugh,  my  boy,  —  you're  as  welcome  as  good  old 
Rhenish ! "  exclaimed  Revere,  starting  up  and  welcoming  the 
new  comer  with  a  cordial  shake  of  the  hand.  "  Fact  is,  I  was 
getting  deuced  lonesome, — just  going  to  bed,  for  the  want  of 
somebody  to  talk  to  ;  but  I'm  good  for  a  brace  of  hours  yet,  old 
fellow !  Here,  sit  down  !  "  —  and  he  wheeled  another  luxuriant 
easy-chair  toward  the  grate.  "  Take  a  smoke  ?  Prime  Havanas, 
these,  —  best  brand ! "  handing  a  silver  cigar-case  from  the-man- 
tel.  "Have  a  drink,  too?  Pure  old  Moselle!"  —  and  he 
poured  a  foaming  glass. 

"  Ah,  thank  you,  Gus,"  drawled  the  new  comer,  sinking  into 
the  chair,  after  he  had  divested  himself  of  a  broadcloth  circular 
from  which  the  frozen  snow  melted  in  drops  upon  the  thick  car- 
pet. "  Devilish  cold  night  this,  'pon  my  word !  Takes  the 
breath  quite  out  of  a  fellow.  Shouldn't  have  come  out  to-night, 
but  a  little  business  affair  pressed  me  rather  hard.  Thought  I'd 
come  down  and  see  what  you'd  do  towards  helping  a  fellow  out 
of  a  tight  place.  The  boys  are  all  down  on  me  ;  not  a  red  cent 
can  be  squeezed  from  their  pockets.  What's  to  be  done  in  such 
a  case,  Gus  ?  "  —  and,  while  comfortably  settled  in  the  depths  of 
the  arm-chair,  his  feet  on  the  polished  grate-fender,  and  sipping 
his  wine  leisurely  as  he  awaited  his  companion's  reply,  we  will 
take  the  liberty  of  surveying  Hugh  Golding's  personale. 

He  was  probably  the  junior  of  Revere  by  two  or  three  years, 
but  more  than  his  peer  hi  elegance  of  form  and  feature  ;  a  slen- 
der, but  well-knit  frame,  purely  cut  classical  features,  a  pale, 
transparent  complexion,  whose  clearness  dissipation  had  little 
impaired,  relieved  by  hah*  and  eyes  of  jetty  blackness,  going  to 
make  up  his  attractive  physique.  In  character,  he  was  the 
counterpart  of  his  companion,  with  the  exception  that  his  refined 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         35 

vices  were  the  legitimate  fruit  of  a  youth  of  aristocratic  idleness, 
rather  than  the  cool,  scheming  plots  of  a  hardened  shiner.  The 
only  son  of  a  rich  merchant  of  Gotham  of  unimpeachable  integ- 
rity and  standing  in  the  highest  circles,  Golding's  youth  had 
passed  in  a  dream  of  luxurious  ease ;  nor  did  he  ever  find  him- 
self in  the  least  straitened  for  the  means  to  sustain  his  idle, 
spendthrift  life,  until,  during  a  severe  mercantile  crisis,  his  father 
went  down  in  the  crash,  —  and,  from  being  the  "prospective  heir 
of  millions,  he  awoke  to  beggary.  The  stricken  merchant,  un- 
manned, buried  his  despair  in  the  grave  whither  a  paralytic 
stroke  hurried  him ;  and  the  son,  scorning  honest  labor,  con- 
flicting as  it  did  with  his"  ideas  of  respectability,  fell  in  with  a 
set  of  "  fast "  young  men  —  foremost  among  wfeom  was  the 
wily  Revere,  who  resolved  to  take  advantage  of  Golding's  aris- 
tocratic connections  to  push  his  own  way  into  society  —  and 
thus  he  found  a  new  way  of  coining  money :  by  dice  and  cards. 
For  five  years  their  intimacy  had  remained  unbroken  ;  and  cer- 
tainly during  that  period  the  pupil  had  equalled,  if  not  excelled, 
his  master.  Few  imagined  how,  under  Golding's  smooth,  care- 
^less,  gentleman-like  exterior,  lay  strong  passions,  deep  resolves, 
and  a  species  of  craftiness,  which,  for  the  lack  of  occasion,  had 
never  been  developed ;  yet,  that  he  possessed*  these  attributes, 
let  the  sequel  of  his  career  show. 

As  he  sat  there,  carelessly  sipping  the  sparkling  wine  and 
awaiting  Revere's  reply,  you  would  not  have  thought  a  care  or 

loss  had  ever  disturbed  his  brain. 

^ 

"  Come,  Gus,"  he  said,  putting  down  the  glass  and  idly  slip-- 
ping a  splendid  seal  ring  over  the  joint  of  his  slender  little  fin- 
ger, "  what  say  you  ?  Can  you  accommodate  me  with  five 
thousand  or  so  ?  for  I  lost  deucedly  last  night,  to  that  French 
Count." 

"  Five    thousand    dollars  !      What  the   d — ickens    do    you 


36  PEACE  :    OE   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

mean  ?  "  echoed  Revere,  in  astonishment.  "  Why,  my  dear  fel- 
low, you  must  be  non  compos  —  a  little  touched  here  !  "  —  tap- 
ping his  forehead  with  his  fore-finger.  "  I  hav'nt  five  hundred 
at  my  disposal  now !  Couldn't  raise  it,  either ;  for  I've  been 
confoundedly  unlucky  of  late,  and  here  I  am  at  present,  with  my 
board  bills  accumulating,  putting  off  "  mine  host "  till  something 
in  the  shape  of  a  flat  turns  up  at  Delmonte's.  Fact  is,  I  doubt 
whether  I  can  raise  the  needful  for  the  bridal  fixings,  expenses 
of  the  journey,  etc.,  when  the  wedding  comes  off.  Deuced 
agreeable  that,  I  say ;  don't  you  ?  But,  ah  !  I  forgot  that  you're 
not  posted  yet,  Hugh  ! " 

"  Wedding  !  "  echoed  Golding,  surprised  in  his  turn,  his  cheek 
paling ;  "  Augustus  Revere,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  — 
that  —  "  his  voice  failed  him. 

Revere  smiled.  "  Yes,  I  do  mean  to  say,  that  last  night,  at 
Dr.  Hartwell's  house,  was  a  fortunate  one  for  me.  I  flatter1 
myself  that  I  am  the  accepted  suitor  of  the  handsomest,  wealth- 
iest heiress  of  the  Crescent  City.  In  other  words,  your  cousin, 
Julie  Courtney,  is  my  promised  wife.  Wish  me  joy  of  our  future 
kinship,  Hugh  !  "  —  and  he  held  forth  "his  hand.  "  I  see  you  are. 
somewhat  surprised  at  this  hasty  and  prosperous  termination  of 
my  wooing ;  but  nothing  like  striking  when  the  iron's  hot,  my 
dear  fellow  ! " 

Hugh  Golding  sprang  up  from  his  chair,  and  dashed  aside  the 
proffered  hand.  He  strode  the  floor  rapidly.  His  face  was 
white  as^marble  ;  a  lurid  glow  burned  in  his  midnight  eyes  ;  he 
bit  his  lips  till  bloody  foam  flecked  his  gleaming  teeth  ;  and  his 
clenched  fingers  worked  convulsively,  burying  their  nails  in  his 
soft  palms.  There  was  a  blending  of  anger,  pride,  and  despair, 
chasing  in  rnpid  waves  over  his  features.  Pygmalion's  statue, 
suddenly  wai-med  into  glowing,  passionate  life,  was  scarce  a  more 
wonderful  transformation  than  this ;  only  that  darker  emotions 


PEACE  I    OB   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  37 

swept  their  tumultuous  throes  over  Golding's  face,  which,  turned 
from  the  fire-light,  was  partially  concealed  from  his  companion's 
gaze.  But  Revere  saw  something  of  his  agitation. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Hugh  ?  You  go  on  like  a  rejected 
lover  !  What,  not  congratulate  me  ?  A  shabby  trick,  'pon  my 
word ! " 

There  was  a  conflict,  wild,  terrible,  but  brief,  in  Golding's 
heart ;  but  when  he  turned  his  face  to  the  light,  there  was  no 
trace  left  save  a  slight  paleness.  Forcing  a  quick,  nervous 
laugh,  he  came  back  and  sat  down ;  and,  leaning  toward  Revere, 
shook  his  hand. 

"  I  was  foolish ;  but  it  was  such  a  surprise  !  Upon  my  word, 
I  did  not  know  that  you  and  Jule  had  got  on  so  !  When  does  it 
come  off  ?  " 

"  I  accompany  her  home  in  the  latter  part  of  February,  to 
meet  my  future  father-in-law ;  and  she  will  return  as  '  Mrs. 
Revere.'  Sorry  that  I  can't  accommodate  you  regarding  the 
money  ;  but  you  see  how  it  is.  I  must  husband  my  resources, 
else  I  shall  not  husband  Jule  in  a  hurry,  I  fear.  Ha,  ha !  no 
punning  intended,  my  boy  !  After  all,  it  is  something  to  place 
freedom  beyond  your  reach,  and  put  your  head  into  the  yoke  in 
good  earnest!  But  brides  like  Julie  Courtney  are  not  to  be 
won  every  day.  Splendid  girl,  isn't  she,  Golding  ?  I  owe  you 
an  eternal  debt  of  gratitude  for  the  introduction.' 

"  My  cousin's  wealth  is  not  her  only  dowry.  To  win  such  a 
heart  as  hers  is  better  than  refined  gold ! "  replied  the  young 
man,  with  a  dash  of  haughty  enthusiasm.  "All  are  not  so 
favored.  I  wish  you  joy  ! "  he  added,  in  a  hard,  bitter  tone, 
choking  som'ething  rising  in  his  throat.  "  But  about  the  busi- 
ness "  —  he  went  on  in  a  changed  voice.  "  The  money  must  be 
raised.  I  could  put  the  Count  off,  I  suppose,  for  a  month  or 

4 


38  PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

two,  with  my  note  and  a  good  endorser.  Let  me  have  your 
name.1" 

"  Five  thousand !  It's  too  monstrous !  If  it  were  a  possible 
thing,  Hugh;, but  —  " 

"  A  possible  thing ! "  echoed  Golding,  sarcastically.  "  What 
can  a  few  paltry  thousands  be  to  a  gentleman  of  your  expecta- 
tions ?  A  mere  drop  in  the  bucket !  Our  '  East  Indian  uncle's 
heir'  is  getting  parsimonious,  I'm  afraid." 

Revere  caught  the  glance  of  keen,  scrutinizing  black  eyes, 
bent  upon  him.  Was  he  suspected?  He  coughed,  shifted  his 
position,  and  looked  down  in  embarrassment. 

"  Besides,  there  is  a  wealthy  heiress  in  prospective,  whom  / 
helped  you  to,  Augustus  Revere.  If  /  prove  the  villain  whom 
your  words  seem  to  imply,  think  you  my  generous  cousin  Jule 
would  begrudge  so  small  a  moiety  from  the  yield  of  her  cotton- 
fields  as  a  purse  of  gold  to  her  lord  and  master,  wherewith  to 
redeem  his  bond  f  But  this  is  all  folly !  I  want  your  name, 
simply.  Will  you  give  it  me  ?  " 

Revere  still  hung  back.  Evidently  his  faith  in  his  compan- 
ion's words  was  small ;  or  he  feared  lest  the  knowledge  that  he 
was  connected  with  any  such  business  transaction  with  the  well- 
known  gambler,  Count  Le  Vert,  would  reach  the  ears  of  his 
affiancee.  The  latter  predominated. 

"  If  I  were  sure  this  would  not  come  to  Miss  Courtney's 
knowledge.  I  must  guard  well  my  character  in  her  eyes,"  he 
pleaded. 

"  Your  character  !  "  sneered  Golding,  with  a  withering  glance 
of  contempt.  "  Pshaw  !  you  talk  of  honor  !  Why,  Gus  Revere, 
you  know  that,  in  one  hour  from  now,  I  could  place  an  insur- 
mountable barrier  between  your  marriage  with  my  cousin. 
Deny  that,  if  you  can  !  •  You  do  well  to  guard  your  '  character  ' 
now,  at  this  late  hour!  We  shall  have  you  turning  parson 


PEACE  :    OK   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  89 

directly,  on  oar  hands  !  But  it  will  never  do  !  The  fair  Julie 
has  too  immaculate  notions,  to  marry  a  man  who  has  kept  his 
mis  —  " 

Revere  started  up.  A  flush  crimsoned  his  cheek,  and  for  a 
moment  a  shade  of  feeling  quivered  in  his  voice. 

"  Hugh  Golding,  keep  back  that  word !  You,  of  all  men, 
know  how  I  wronged  that  girl ;  but  you  shall  not  taunt  me  with 
it,  or  apply  such  a  name  to  her !  I  am  a  villain  ;  I  was  fully 
sensible  of  that  six  months  ago.  I  was  a  double  villain  before 
then,  when  I  took  the  child  and  gave  him  into  your  keeping.  I 
turn  in  your  power !  Go  to  Dr.  Hartwell's  house,  inquire  for 
Miss  Julie  Courtney,  and  tell  her  what  a  saintly  young  gentle- 
man she  has  promised  to  marry !  " 

"  Shall  I  take  you  at  your  word  ? "  queried  Golding,  coolly, 
starting  up  resolutely.  "Just  as  you  say  about  the  matter. 
Good  night ! "  —  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  door-knob. 

His  audacious  movement  restored  caution  to  Revere,  who,  in 
a  momentary  fit  of  affected  abandonment  to  remorse,  had  over- 
acted his  part. 

"  Sit  down,  for  God's  sake,  Hugh,  and  let  us  compromise  this 
affair ! " 

"  There  is  but  one  way  of  settling  it,  —  the  way  in  which  I 
have  pointed  out,  —  your  endorsement  of  the  note !  Are  you  a 
fool,  not  to  see  what  your  best  move  is  ?  " 

Revere  replied  by  bringing  a  writing-case  from  a  cabinet,  and 
placing  it  before  his  companion. 

"  Write  the  note,"  he  said.  "  Should  it  become  impossible 
for  you  to  meet  it,  I  will  befriend  you,  and  with  money  of  my 
own  earning,  too.  The  day  that  sees  me  return  to  New  York  a 
married  man,  sees  me  a  reformed  one.  I  will  leave  dice  and 
cards,  and  engage  in  some  honorable,  lucrative  mercantile  em- 
ployment;  which  example  I  recommend  you  to  follow,  Hugh." 


40  PEACE  :    OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

Golding's  lip  curled.  Balancing  his  pen  lightly  between  his 
thumb  and  finger,  he  looked  Revere  sharply  in  the  eye,  and 
said: 

"  I  hold  myself  exceedingly  grateful  for  your  advice.  I  may 
accept  it  —  and  I  may  not.  But,  Gus,  you  havn't  fathomed  me 
yet.  I  spoke  of  an  obstacle  to  your  marriage ;  there  is  ,one, 
such  as  you  never  dreamed  of,  —  the  knowledge  of  which  I  alone 
possess.  And  I  might  go  to  Julie  to-night,  and  impart  to  her 
what  would  cause  her  to  spurn  you  !  but  I  will  not.  Let  the 
marriage  go  on.  Will,  perhaps  Justice,  must  be  subservient  to 
my  Necessity.  This  saves  you,  but  it  seals  her  fate  ! "  he  mut- 
tered in  a  lower  tone  as  he  hastily  dashed  off  the  note  and 
pushed  it  across  the  table. 

"  This  wonderful  secret  of  which  you  affirm  yourself  sole  pos- 
sessor, is  necessarily  a  mystery  to  me,"  said  Revere  coldly, 
writing  his  name  on  the  back  of  the  note. 

"  It  will  be  well  if  it  always  remains  so ;  and  indeed  it  depends 
wholly  upon  yourself,"  returned  Golding,  depositing  the  note  in 
his  pocket-book  and  taking  his  cloak  and  hat  from  the  chair. 
"  It  is  late  ;  I  must  go.  I  pledge  you  secrecy ;  and  wish  you 
happiness  in  this  glass  of  wine.  Good  night !  —  Yes,  Julie 
Courtney,  your  fate  is  sealed"  he  murmured,  almost  sadly,  as  he 
gained  the  keen,  cold  outer  air.  "  Poor  Julie !  and  yet  how  I 
have  loved  you ! " 


CHAPTER    V. 

The  snow  had  hegun  in  the  gloaming, 

And  busily  all  the  night 
Had  been  heaping  field  and  highway 

With  a  silence  deep  and  white. 


LOWELL. 


His  scorn  is  lying  on  my  heart  like  snow ; 
My  eyes  are  weary,  and  I  fain  would  sleep ; 
The  quietest  sleep  is  underneath  the  ground. 

ALEXANDER  SMITH. 

MORNING  broke  over  Meadow  Brook.  The  storm  had 
passed.  The  air  was  clear  as  crystal,  the  sky  darkly  blue  as 
steel ;  and  broken  fleecy  cloud-rifts,  "  like  white  lambs  gone 
astray,"  wandered  hither  and  thither  over  the  azure  field  of 
heaven.  The  earth,  like  a  fair  bride,  was  attired  in  spotless 
white ;  snow-clad  hills,  standing  side  by  side,  awaited  the  coming 
of  the  groom  from  the  chambers  of  the  East,  while  stately  pines 
and  firs  —  those  priests  among  trees,  wifh  gown  and  cassock 
always  on  —  with  outstretched  arms,  seemed  waiting  to  murmur 
the  benediction. 

On  meadow,  pasture-land,  and  in  the  hollows,  drifts,  pure 
white  and  unflecked  by  a  shadow  even,  lay  unbroken  ;  the  river 
in  the  valley  wound  like  the  trail  of  a  dark  serpent  through  the 
landscape ;  low  stone  walls  and  fences  went  straggling  hither 
and  thither,  their  course  unmarked,  save  where  some  topmost 
rail  or  stone  projected ;  sign-boards  at  cross-roads  stood  knee- 
deep  in  snow,  their  muffled  arms  stretched  forth,  as  though,  in 
imploring  shelter,  they  had  frozen  stiff  in  their  sentinel  stations  ; 

4*  (41) 


42  PEACE  :    OB    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

and  the  forests  drooped  under  their  feathery  tributes.  And  then, 
as  the  sun  came  from  the  orient  begirt  in  robes  of  gold  and  fire, 
mounting  higher,  and  the  morning  deepened,  then  commenced 
country  sights  and  sounds. 

First,  a  fault  thread  of  smoke  which  had  coiled  close  to  some 
chimney-top,  shivering  in  the  dim,  cold  air  of  the  gray  dawn, 
rose  slowly  upward,  grew  fainter  and  thinner,  till  lost  in  the 
blue ;  then  from  every  chimney  in  Meadow  Brook  graceful 
wreathing  columns  floated  away  in  rapidly  whirling  lines. 
"  Chanticleer's  muffled  crow  "  came  from  barn-yards  and  sheds, 
echoing  out  in  choruses,  until  one  shrill,  defiant  scream  rose  high 
above  all  others ;  the  bleating  of  sheep  and  lowing  of  cattle 
deepened ;  stately  watch-dogs,  uttered  their  deep-mouthed  bark ; 
frisky  terriers  leaped  about  in  the  soft  snow  with  quick,  sharp 
cries ;  or  some  venturesome,  frolicking  kitten,  first  peeping  tim- 
idly from  a  half-opened  farm-house  door,  cautiously  ventured 
out,  leaving  quaintest,  cunningest  little  tracks  in  the  yielding 
white  carpet,  until  she  was  glad  to  return  to  the  blazing  hearth- 
stone whence  she  ventured,  and,  drying  her  velvet  paws,  snug- 
gled down  in  the  warmest  corner. 

Then  the  stout  farmer,  with  furred  cap  and  thick  mittens, 
came  out  and  burrowed  his  way  to  the  long  barn,  whence,  after 
"  foddering "  his  cattle,  he  returned,  shovelMng  a  wide  path  to 
the  house-door.  Little  girls  were  content  with  peeping  from 
windows,  —  melting  the  frost  from  the  panes  with  their  warm 
breath,  or  scratching  it  away  with  their  fat  fingers,  demolishing 
all  Jack  Frost's  cunningly  pencilled  devices,  —  tree,  shrub, 
flower,  castle,  tower  and  turret,  —  while  their  chubby  brothers 
jumped  about  and  halloed,  blinding  one  another  with  handfuls 
of  loose  snow.  Then  perhaps  Ned  caught  Dick  by  the  collar, 
and  rolled  him  over  into  a  deep  drift,  from  whence  said  Dick 
soon  emerged  shaking  himself  like  a  young  cub,  —  though,  what 


PEACE:    OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  43 

with  the  cold,  and  his  anger  which  would  certainly  have  pro- 
voked a  passion  of  tears  but  for  his  prideful  wish  to  "be  a 
man,"  his  round  cheeks  glowed  very  red.  And  so  it  continued, 
until  a  comely-faced  woman,  with  ample  checked  aprtm,  appeared 
in  the  door-way  with  a  summons  to  breakfast. 

But,  after  smoking  corn  cakes  and  steaming  coffee  are  des- 
patched, behold  them  forth  again' !  Huge  sleds,  drawn  by  yokes 
of  patient  oxen,  are  piloted  out  into  the  highway ;  the  farmer 
wading  knee-deep  in  the  drifts  alongside,  and  flourishing  his 
goad  over  "  Buck,"  or  "  Star,"  or  "  Bright,"  while  his  boys  pile 
upon  the  sleds,  and  the  great  oxen  plough  their  way  steadily 
forward  to  "  break  odt  the  roads."  In  a  few  hours  more,  the 
highway  partially  trodden,  sleigh-bells  chime  on  the  air,  —  at 
first  faintly,  then  faster  and  nearer,  —  as  some  dashing  young 
farmer  whirls  furiously  past-  in  a  gayly  painted  cutter  behind  his 
fastest  nag.  Old,  steady,  jog-trotting  horses,  harnessed  into 
sleighs  roomy  as  a  bed-room,  and  suggestive  of  Noah's  ark,  are 
led  close  to  farm-house  doors,  whence  issue  a  squadron  of  chil- 
dren, all  eager  for  a  sleigh-ride  ;  Charlie  or  Frank  insisting  "  to 
drive,"  while  little  Bessie,  tucked  away  into  the  middle  of  the 
back  seat,  with  a  nice  quilted  hood  and  grandmother's  shawl  on, 
puts  forth  her  mittened  hands,  beseeching  to  "  hold  the  reins." 
And  so  away  they  go,  not  fast  or  furious,  though  ;  for  old  Dob- 
bin is  the  staidest  of  animals,  and  wouldn't  overturn  his  precious 
load  for  worlds  (of  oats)  —  not  he  !  And  later,  when  the  sun 
stands  high  and  warm,  shining  dazzlingly  all  over  the  brilliant 
white  landscape,  great  sleds  laden  with  wood  for  the  market 
come,  creaking,  creaking,  along  the  hardened  highway ;  and 
more  teams  dash  by,  the  bells  jingling  merrily.  And  so  at 
length,  the  whole  country  is  awakened  to  fullest  life  and  activity. 

But,  all  this  time,  how  was  it  at  the  farm-house  on  the 
Kidge? 


44  PEACE  :  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

Ah,  no  rejoicing  there  !  and  but  little  token  of  life  where 
there  was  ordinarily  a  stir  at  earliest,  daybreak  !  True,  the  white 
smoke  was  curling  up  from  the  broad  stacked  chimney  at  the 
first  streak  of  daylight ;  for  the  fire  on  the  kitchen  hearth  had 
not  died  out  all  the  night.  But  there  was  no  nice,  widely- 
shovelled  path  from  the  door;  the  patient  kine  in  their  stalls 
had  not  been  fed;  Dr.  Harris's  yellow  sleigh  was  under  the 
shed,  and  his  horse  stood  with  drooping  head  under  the  ample 
buffalo  robe.  The  old  doctor  himself  was  in  the  farm-house, 
where  Nurse  Dean  went  fro'm  bed-room  to  kitchen,  and  kitchen 
to  bed-room,  with  soft  footsteps  and  hushed  whispers ;  while 
Reuben  sat  crouched  down  in  the  corner  of  the  wide  chimney- 
place,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  face  in  his  hands, 
taking  no  heed  of  the  flight  of  time  or  any  movement  about  him. 
There  had  he  sat  all  the  long  night ;  there  he  sat,  as  the  dim 
winter's  dawn  broke  —  in  utter  silence. 

All  night,  too,  had  Patience,  forgetting  her  hoarded  resent- 
ment, busied  herself  with  tearful  eyes  and  willing  hands,  to  aid 
the  sufferer  who  lay  at  Death's  door  before  her. 

When  morning  dawned,  a  little  feeble  cry  sounded  from  the 
bed-room  —  the  tiny  wail  of  a  being  just  ushered  into  a  world  of 
care,  and  sin,  and  suffering  —  and  a  new  life  was  under  the  old 
farm-house  roof.  But  it  was  a  life  which  must  cost  another,  — 
a  soul  for  which  the  mother's  must  be  rendered  ;  for,  ere  the  sun 
had  fairly  entered  on  his  upward  career,  the  doctor,  coming  forth 
from  the  bed-room,  walked  across  the  kitchen  floor,  put  his  hand 
on  Reuben's  shoulder,  and  saicty  in  a  kindly  whisper : 

"  Rouse  up,  Reuben.  She  has  revived  a  little,  and  asks  for 
you.  Go  to  her  ;  for  she  can't  last  long  !  " 

Mute  and  pale,  with  compressed  lips,  Reuben  rose  and  went 
in.  Mrs.  Dean  .came  forth  as  he  entered,  and  left  him  alone 
with  Patience  and  the  dying  girl.  His  sister  sat  beside  the 


PEACE  :    OB   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  45 

hearth,  holding  the  new-born  infant  in  her  arms.  Looking  then 
upon  her  face,  one  would  scarcely  have  known  it  for  the  hard, 
cold  face  of  the  previous  night ;  for  a  tender  compassion  had  soft- 
ened and  beautified  every  feature,  and  beamed  from  her  clear, 
dark  eyes.  Reuben's  eyes  were  bright  and  dry.  He  could  not 
have  shed  a  tear  for  his  life ;  his  head  throbbed  with  a  dull, 
heavy  pain  ;  his  step  was  sluggish,  as  he  went  slowly  toward  the 
bed. 

It  was  a  very  wan  face  upon  the  pillow ;  so  white,  that  it 
might  have  seemed  a  statue's  but  for  the  faint  quiver  of  the  thin 
nostrils,  and  the  almost  transparent  eyelids.  The  long  waxen 
fingers  worked  convulsively  together  over  the  coverlet.  At  length 
she  half  closed  her  eyes,  and  murmured  feebly :  "  Reuben,  Reu- 
ben !  —  wont  he  come  ?  "  she  added  despairingly. 

The  strong  man  bent  over  her,  and  lifted  one  pale,  cold,  clam- 
my hand. 
"Mary!" 

It  was  all  he  said,  but  it  was  enough.  It  dissolved  the  icy 
chill  freezing  his  own  heart.  A  few  scalding  tears  rolled  down 
his  furrowed  cheeks,  and  dropped  upon  her  hand. 

"  Reuben,"  and  the  girl  opened  her  violet  eyes,  where  the 
death-shadows  were  fast  gathering,  and  cast  a  beseeching  glance 
upon  him,  clasping  her  other  hand  over  his — "  Reuben,  forgive, 
forgive  !  Only  say  it !  " 

"Mary  Halpine,  you  wronged  me  deeply, — you  touched  my 
heart  in  a  tender  spot ;  but  in  an  hour  like  this  it  is  not  for  one 
mortal  to  withhold  forgiveness  from  another.  I  forgive  you,  as 
I  hope  to  be  forgiven  by  Him  in  whose  sight  we  are  all  sinners." 
And  he  bent  his  lips  to  the  cold  hands  clasped  about  his. 

"  God  will  bless  you  for  this  when  I  am  gone.  You  have 
been  kinder  to  me  than  he  for  whom  I  threw  away  your  strong 
true  heart  was.  Oh,  Reuben,  I  was  very,  very  wicked  ! " — she 
sobbed  faintly. 


46        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

Patience  stepped  to  the  bedside,  with  the  babe  in  her  arms. 
Her  voice  quivered  as  she  said :  "  There,  there,  Mary ;  don't 
talk  of  that !  It's  all  over  now,  and  can't  be  helped.  Don't 
say  another  word  —  there,  don't ! 

The  poor  girl  lay  very  still ;  but  a  grateM  smile  trembled 
about  her  lips,  while  Patience  sank  down  on  a  low  chair  hugging 
the  baby  to  her  bosom,  and  Reuben  still  held  the  hands  that 
were  getting  colder.  No  sound  broke  the  silence  except  their 
breathings,  and  the  ticking  of  the  old  clock  outside  in  the 
kitchen.  The  room  was  filled  with  a  dim  twilight,  for  the  can- 
dles had  burned  low,  and  the  drawn  curtains  excluded  the  day- 
light ;  yet  the  gloom  could  not  hide  the  fast-increasing  pallor  of 
the  dying  girl's  face,  —  the  strange  shadows  deepening  over  it ; 
the  fluttering,  convulsive  throes  of  the  white  throat,  the  tossings 
of  the  golden  head  to  and  fro  on  the  pillows,  and  the  rapid  work- 
ing of  her  fingers  tightening  over  Reuben's  hand.  Suddenly 
she  withdrew  their  clasp;  stretched  forth  her  hands  appealingly; 
and,  unclosing  her  eyes  lit  up  by  a  gleam  of  unearthly  brilliancy, 
turned  their  wandering  gaze  about  the  room  until  they  fell  on 
Patience. 

"  My  baby  —  bring  me  my  baby  ! "  she  moaned. 

Patience  rose  and  laid  it  on  the  pillow  close  by  the  mother's 
face.  Mary  clasped  it  convulsively,  and  drew  its  little  cheek 
close  to  her  own  with  a  caressing  movement. 

"  Poor  darling  !  poor  baby ! "  she  murmured,  the  tears  rush- 
ing into  her  eyes.  "  I  wish  you  could  die,  too,  and  be  laid  to 
sleep  on  your  mother's  bosom.  Nobody  wants  you,  my  poor 
baby  —  nobody  wants  the  child  of  shame  ! "  and  with  her  dying 
strength,  kissing  it  again  and  again,  she  hugged  it  to  her  bosom. 
Then,  exhausted,  she  let  it  fall  from  her  arms. 

Patience  gently  replaced  the  babe  on  the  pillow,  then  turned 
away  to  wipe  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her  checked  apron. 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  47 

Reuben  bent  over  the  dying  girl,  and  whispered,  huskily,  "  Mary, 
fear  not !  —  your  child  shall  never  want  a  father ! " 

"  Nor  a  mother,  either,  while  Patience  Wedgewood  lives ! " 
said  the  weeping  woman,  coming  forward  and  taking  up  the  thir 
cold  hand  from  the  coverlet,  and  pressing  it  between  her  own. 
"  Mary  Halpine,  these  five  years,  since  you  went  off  and  left 
Reuben  so  wretched  like,  I  have  been  nursing  up  wrath  against 
you ;  but  the  Lord  in  His  own  way,  has  softened  my  heart  at 
last.  It'll  be  a  lesson  to  me.  "We're  all  poor  sinful  creeters ; 
and  't  isn't  for  either  of  us  to  set  ourselves  up  above  another  and 
say,  '  I'm  better  than  you ! '  It  wasn't  right  of  you  to  treat 
Reuben  in  the  way  you  did,  —  but  the  Lord  permitted  it,  and 
what  He  ordains  is  always  for  the  best.  Poor  short-sighted 
creeters,  we're  too  ^ipt  to  question  His  will.  But  it's  all  past  and 
gone  now ;  and  no  doubt  you  repented  long  ago  ;  so  don't  you 
want  that  poor  innocent  baby  to  die  for  fear  nobody'd  be  raised 
up  to  take  care  of  her,  for  I  tell  you  she  shall  never  go  from 
under  this  ruff  if  you'll  give  her  to  us." 

A  grateful  smile  hovered  over  the  dying  girl's  face,  and 
her  lip  quivered  as  she  turned  to  look  upon  the  babe  beside 
her. 

Reuben  stooped  down  and  whispered,  "Yes,  Mary,  give  us 
your  child.  It  shall  be  to  us  as  our  own.  —  But  will  nobody 
come  to  claim  her  ?  Is  he  living  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  faintly  murmured  the  poor  girl,  striving  to  crush  her 
tears  ;  he  is  living  —  but  he  wont  want  her.  It  is  months  since 
we  parted.  If  he  spurned  the  mother,  he  will  not  seek  the 
child.  She  is  yours."  Then,  after  lying  still  and  exhausted  a 
few  moments,  she  whispered  brokenly  :  "  I  have  been  very 
wicked,  but  God  has  been  good  to  me.  He  sent  me  here ;  I 
know  it  now ;  I  do  not  fear  now  to  leave  my  baby  ;  you  will 
take  better  care  of  her  than  I  could.  If  she  lives  to  grow  up, 


48  PEACE  :    OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

tell  her  about  her  mother.  Patience,  you  may  have  her  now"  — 
and  she  essayed  to  place  her  in  her  arms. 

Patience  bent  down,  kissed  her  cold  forehead,  then  lifted  her 
legacy  to  her  b.osom.  The  dying  mother  smiled,  and  whispered, 
"  Peace,  peace  —  I  feel  it  now.  Call  my  baby  so,  Patience. 
She  has  brought  peace  between  us,  has  she  not  ? "  —  and  she 
threw  a  quick,  eager  glance  from  her  face  to  Reuben's,  —  "  Name 
my  baby  Peace."  I  *  ; 

"  Yes,  Mary,"  replied  the  farmer,  in  a  husky  voice. 

After  a  few  moments,  he  asked,  "  Mary,  are  you  his  wife  ?  " 

A  low  moan  broke  from  her  pale  lips.  "I  thought  so — 
God  is  my  witness,  I  thought  so.  All  those  years  I  was  very 
happy,  till  the  time  came  when  I  knew  !  —  I  knew  " !  —  But  the 
blush  which  crept  over  her  white  fape,  till  it  died  in  the  masses 
of  golden  hair  on  her  forehead,  told  what  she  could  not  utter. 
She  lay  with  closed  eyes,  and  great  tears  coursing  silently  down 
her  cheeks ;  —  and  Reuben's  teeth  were  hard  set,  and  his 
breathing  was  thick  and  gasping  as  he  stood  by  the  bedside. 

Then  she  raised  her  hands  to  a  little  gold  chain  on  her  neck. 
But  her  fingers  failed  her.  Patience  laid  the  babe  down,  and 
stooped  to  unclasp  a  locket  from  the  chairt.  It  yielded  to  the 
pressure  of  her  fingers ;  she  touched  a  spring,  and  placed  the 
opened  locket  in  Mary's  hand.  There  were  two  faces  painted  on 
the  ivory ;  one,  that  of  the  dying  girl  on  the  pillow,  every  linea- 
ment beaming  with  health  and  beauty ;  the  other,  the  hand- 
some, manly-looking,  but  treacherous  semblance  of  him  who  had 
lured  her  to  her  ruin. 

Mary  Halpine  looked  at  it  long  and  earnestly,  pressed  it 
passionately  to  her  lips,  then  placed  it  in  Reuben's  hand  : 
"  Keep  it  for  my  baby.  Some  day  show  her  the  faces  of  her 
mother  and  —  her  father  ! "  Then,  wholly  exhausted,  she  sunk 
back. 


PEACE  :     OB   THE    STOLEN    WILL.  49 

At  length  the  last  moment  came  ;  and  when,  hovering  on  the 
verge  of  the  Silent  Land,  the  dying  lamp  of  Memory  flashed  fit- 
fully, she  uttered  rapidly  and  incoherently,  words  it  thrilled  her 
listeners  to  hear. 

Nervously  working,  her  fingers  over  the  coverlet,  fixing  her 
large  blue  eyes  on  vacancy  as  if  she  saw  a  form  and  face  they 
could  not  see,  she  said  thrillingly,  in  a  beseeching  voice : 

"  Augustus,  Augustus,  don't  ask  me  !  I  am  to  be  Reuben's 
wife.  Don't  you  know  they  are  getting  ready  for  me  at  the 
Ridge?  There,  hark!  the  bells!" — gazing  wildly  up  into 
Reuben's  face.  "  Wedding,  bells  ?  No,  they  are  tolling  for  my 
darling's  funeral !  Did  he  die  t  They  said  he  was  lost  — 
drowned  in  the  deep  waters !  "  —  and  she  clutched  strongly  at 
his  hands.  "  Do  you  believe  my  darling  died  ?  No  ;  they  did 

* 

not  bury  him  under  the  willows,  —  I  couldn't  find  him  there  ! 
I  only  found  a  longer  grave  —  all  covered  with  snow.  They 
,said  it  was  my  mother's  !  that  I  killed  her !  But  they  lied ;  they 
cheated  me !  Mary  always  loved  her  mother  too  well  to  let  her 
die !  Now  let  us  go  home.  I  want  to  go  jto  the  old  cottage- 
home  and  find  her.  Why  don't  you  help  me  go  and  find  my 
mother  ?  You  cruel,  'cruel  man,  —  you  keep  me  here !  I  will 
go ! "  —  and  she  started  upright  in  bed  and  strove  to  break  from 
Reuben's  hold.  Then  she  fell  back  with  a  gasping  moan.  The 
death-shadows  were  deepening. 

"  But  I  can't  go !  The  snow  is  deep !  —  so  deep  !  I  sink !  it 
drifts  all  over  me !  'Twill  freeze  my  baby !  There,  hush, 
hush !  poor  baby  !  It  sha'n't  touch  you  —  the  cold,  cruel  snow ! 
Mother  will  keep  you  warm*!  "  —  and  she  hugged  it  tightly  to 
her  bosom. 

Suddenly  the  last  change  came.  The  grasp  of  her  arms  re- 
laxed ;  the  babe  fell  back  on  the  pillows,  to  be  gathered  to  a 
mother's  breast  no  more.  The  spasmodic  strength  of  the  dying 

5 


50  PEACE:   OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

departed ;  Death  no  longer  lingered,  but  with  one  wave  of  his 
heavy  sable  wings  settled  down  over  her. 

"  It  is  dark  and  cold,"  she  gasped,  chokingly.  "  O,  the  snow ! 
it  covers  —  it  stifles  me  !  Take  me  away  f  Augustus  —  Reu- 
ben —  lift  me  —  lift  me  higher !  therej  it  is  warm  now,  and 
clear !  I  can  find  my  way  ! "  —  and  the  golden  head  which  the 
strong  man  had  drawn  to  his  shoulder  fell  heavily  against  his 
breast,  —  the  pale  eyelids  drooped,  —  the  breath  went  fluttering 
from  her  white  lips,  —  and  it  was  over ! 

Mary  Halpine  had  gone  —  gone  to  "  find  the  way  !  "  Gone 
to  His  bosom  who  would  not  cast  her  out  —  to  sheltering  arms 
that  would  nevermore  be  unloosened  —  where,  thenceforth,  there 
was  neither  unkindness,  nor  sorrow,  nor  weeping,  nor  any  more 
sin! 

Two  days  after,  the  drifted  snows  were  broken,  and  the  frozen 
sods  upturned  in  the  grave-yard  on  Wood  Hill ;  and  there  was 
a  funeral  at  the  farm-house  at  the  Ridge. 

Reuben  and  Patience  went  first  behind  the  bier  whereon  lay 
a  slender  coffin  draped  with  a  black  pall ;  and  a  little  train  of 
neighbors,  foremost  among  whom  was  Doctor  Harris,  wound 
slowly  to  the  spot  where  they  laid  Mary  Halpine  down  to  rest. 
They  lowered  the  coffin,  and  then  the  sexton  filled  in  the  frozen 
clods  and  levelled  the  snow  all  over  the  grave  with  his  spade. 
But  there  was  another  grave  made  that  day  in  Reuben  Wedge- 
wood's  heart,  where  he  had  buried  memories  no  hand  could 
henceforth  stir. 

And  then  the  procession  wound  back  to  the  farm-house  and 
dispersed,  —  a  few  kind,  motherly  women  lingering  to  hold  the 
little  orphan,  and  talk  over  the  sad  story  of  the  buried  mother  ; 
and,  as  Patience  sat  with  them  by  the  fire,  Reuben  lay  upon  his 
bed  in  his  own  room,  with  shut  eyes,  striving  to  shut  Memory 
also  from  his  heart. 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         51 

But  there  was  neither  memory  nor  regret  in  the  pulseless 
heart  of  cold,  dead  Mary  Halpine,  in  her  grave  beneath  the 
snows  on  Wood  Hill !  Truly,  for  her : 

"  The  quietest  sleep  was  underneath  the  ground." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Her  childhood  put  away, 

She  doth  maintain  her  womanhood,  in  vowing  love  to-day. 
O,  lovely  lady  !  —  let  her  vow !   such  lips  become  such  vows ! 
And  fairer  goeth  bridal-wreath  than  crown  with  vernal  brows  ! 

MRS.  BEOWNING. 

"  MY  wedding  morning ! "  —  and  Julie  Courtney  drew  aside 
the  folds  of  gossamer  embr<tidery  from  her  window  and  threw 
up  the  sash,  admitting  a  flood  of  delicious  fragrance  from  the 
gardens  surrounding  Magnolia  Grove  House.  "  Fair,  clear, 
unclouded,  —  may  it  be  an  omen  of  the  new  life  I  am  about  to 
enter ! "  —  and  she  sank  into  a  low  toilet-chair  near  the  window, 
leaned  her  forehead  on  the  sill,  and  gazed  long  at  a  small  minia- 
ture exquisitely  painted  on  ivory  —  the  counterpart  of  that  seen 
in  an  humble  New  England  farm-house  on  Maiy  Halpine's 
death-night  —  the  pictured  face  of  Augustus  Revere !  The 
dar%-eyed  Southern  girl  pressed  rapid  kisses  upon  it.  There 
were  no  eyes  to  scan  her  then. 

"  Best  beloved,"  she  murmured,  her  lips  warming  with  a 
bright,  tender  smile,  "  may  ours  be  the  happiest  of  lives !  one 
heart,  one  home,  —  a  union  indeed !  And  may  this  beautiful 
day  prove  an  augury  !"  —  and  again  she  swept  her  eye  over  the 
landscape. 

A  clear  March  sun  climbed  the  eastern  heavens,  flinging  long, 
lance-like  rays  through  th»  catalpa  trees  and  magnolias  Avith 
their  dark  glossy  green  leaves  and  the  hundred  flowering 
shrubs  in  that  luxuriant  garden,  —  mirrored  himself  in  the  blue 
waters  of  Lake  Pontchartrain,  as  a  lover  sees  his  image  reflected 

(52) 


PEACE:   OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.,  53 

in  his  mistress's  azure  eye,  —  and  sent  one  or  two  stray  lines  of 
golden  light  through  the  foliage  that  draped  the  casement,  to 
quiver  among  the  young  girl's  black  burnished  hair. 

Pure,  fair,  and  sweet,  as  that  clear  sky  bending  above  her, 
had  Julie  Courtney's  life  always  been.  Would,  indeed,  that  no 
clouds  should  fleck  its  brightness  to  the  end  !  And  now,  on  the 
dawn  of  a  new  era  in  her  existence,  no  wonder  that  she  claimed 
the  sunshine,  music,  and  fragrance  of  the  hour,  as  a  happy  omen. 
Brides,  standing  tremblingly  on  the  thresholds  of  new  lives,  — 
with  orange-blossoms  wreathing  sweet  young  brows,  hands 
joined  in. other  fervid  claspings,  and  timid  feet  entering  the  new 
path  they  must  henceforth  tread,  —  it  is  meet  that  such  should 
look  only  for  sunny  skies,  and  a  pleasant  journeying.  And  who, 
were  theirs  the  guerdon  to  read  the  Future's  scroll,  foreseeing 
tempest-clouds  darkening  the  way  these  hopeful,  loving  beings 
must  walk,  would  unfold  their  fate  ?  Surely  not  we  !  Dream 
on  then,  sweet  bride !  Dream  on,  proud,  beautiful  Julia  Court- 
ney, with  the  warm  blood  of  the  South-land  flushing  thy  crimson 
cheek  !  and  though  it  may  be  yours  to  say  in  that  future  : 

i 

My  life  has  been  like  summer  skies  _ 

When  they  are  fair  to  view  ; 

But  there  never  yet  were  star  or  skies 
Clouds  might  not  wander  through  ! " 

yet,  from  deeper  shadows  than  passing  clouds,  Heaven  preserve 
thee! 

Julie's  reverie  was  broken  by  a  slight  tap  at  the  door,  and  im- 
mediately a  tall  black  slave  appeared  bearing  his  mistress's 
breakfast. 

"  Morn  in',  missis,"  he  said,  a  broad  smile  displaying  a  surface 
of  brilliant  ivory,  as  he  placed  the  silver  tray  on  the  table. 
"  'Pears  like  as  if  young  Massa  Revere  in  a  mighty  hurry  for 

5* 


54        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

the  weddin'.  He  keep  walkin'  back  and  forth  on  the  piazzy. 
Wants  to  hurry  old  Time,  I  reckon,  Missis  ! "  —  and,  with 
another  grin  and  a  profound  bow,  touching  his  woolly  foretop, 
he  dexterously  glided  from  the  room  before  his  mistress  could 
either  frown  or  smile  upon  him  for  his  officious  remark. 

The  young  girl  approached  the  table  where  stood  the  tray 
laden  with  an  urn  of  fragrant  Mocha,  a  cup  and  p'late  of  ex- 
quisite Sevres  china,  a  couple  of  tempting  French  rolls,  golden 
butter  stamped  into  grapes  lying  on  a  broad,  glossy  palmetto 
leaf,  and  a  silver  basket  of  fruit  imbedded  in  rich  foliage  and 
flowers ;  but  little  passed  her  lips  that  morning.  She  hastily 
drank  a  cup  of  the  aromatic  coffee  ;  then,  rising,  rang  the  bell. 
Black  Jupiter  appeared  in  a  twinkling,  and  removed  the  tray ; 
and  presently  Minnie,  the  waiting-maid,  —  a  smart,  bright-eyed, 
coquettish  young  mulattress,  —  entered. 

"  From  Massa  Revere,"  she  said,  presenting  an  elegant  bridal 
bouquet  in  a  chastely  wrought  silver  holder. 

"  Oh,  beautiful,  beautiful ! "  exclaimed  Julie,  burying  her 
flushed  face  in  the  flowers.  "  What  superb  japonicas,  and  cape 
jasmines,  and  fragrant  orange-flowers  !  Just  Augustus's  taste ! " 
And  unwinding  a  slip  of  delicate-scented  note-paper  from  the 
stem  of  a  magnificent  pink  and  white  geranium  blossom,  she 
read  four  words  which  sent  the  blood  in  a  more  tumultuous  tide 
through  her  veins  —  "JFor  Julie,  my  wife  !  " 

"  There,  eight  o'clock  !  It  is  time  to  dress !  Minnie,  put 
these  precious  flowers  on  the  mantel  and  array  your  mistress ! " 
she  cried,  as  the  musical  tongue  of  an  inlaid  French  clock 
chimed  the  hour. 

With  a  ready  "  Yes,  Missis,"  the  -slave-girl  placed  the  bouquet 
in  a  vase  of  purest  Bohemian  glass  on  the  marble  mantel,  then 
turned  to  her  young  mistress,  who,  sitting  in  a  chair  before  the 
oval  silver-framed  toilet  mirror,  was  threading  her  delicate 


PEACE  t    OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL.  55 

fingers   through   the    rippling  waves   of   her  long,   unbraided 

hair. 

"    "  The  wide  Grecian  braids,  Minn  !     You  know  they  become 

me  most ;  and  wind  them  round  the  back  of  my  head  for  the 

veil  to  fall  over." 

"Yes,  Missis,"  meekly  answered  Minnie,  gathering  up  the 
long  waves  sweeping  Julie's  white  morning  wrapper,  and  weav- 
ing strand  after  strand  into  a  broad,  satin-smooth  band,  with 
practised  fingers. 

"You  see,  Minnie,"  went  on  Julie,  "Papa  wanted  me  to 
send  for  Monsieur  Coiffure  ;  but  I  do  dislike  the  French  style 
of  hair-dressing.  Yours  suits  me  best.  I  shall  miss  you  when 
I  am .  married  and  gone  !  I  declare,  Minn,  I  think  you  are 
a  bit  selfish,  to  prefer  stopping  at  home  with  Jupe  to  going  along 
with  your  mistress !  "  —  and  a  very  becoming  pout  sat  prettily 
on  Julie's  full  red  lips. 

The  invariable  "  Yes,  Missis,"  with  a  smile  disclosing  two 
polished  rows  of  ivory,  fell  from  the  mulattress's  lips.  "  But 
please,  Missis,  when  Massa  Revere  ask  you  to  marry  him,  you 
didn't  say  'No.'  And 'when  Jupe  come  sneakin'  round, 
'specially  when  there's  Rosa,  and  Delia,  -and  Carline,  all  glad  to 
get  him  away  any  day,  'pears  like  'twas  mighty  hard  to  'fuse  ! " 
and  she  coquetishly  tossed  her  pretty  head.  "  You  see,  Missy 
Julie,  if  'twant  for  Jupe  teasiri'  round  so,  I'd  be  mighty  glad  to 
go  'long  with  ye  to  them  countries  over  the  sea ;  but  —  but  —  " 

"  La,  yes ;  I  see  !  Don't  stammer  so,  child ! "  returned  the 
girl,  with  a  smile ;  for  on  her  wedding  day  she  could  well  afford 
to  banter  her  faithful  waiting-maid.  "  I  see  how  it  is.  Poor 
puss  !  She  shall  stop  at  home  —  so  she  shall  —  and  keep 
naughty  Jupe  from  making  love  to  Rosa  or  Delia,  or  any  of  the 
artful  jades !  I'll  be  generous,  and  forgive  you,  Minn !  There, 
finish  my  hair  quickly  !  It  is  the  last  time  for  many  months  I 


56         PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

shall  call  upon  you.  Some  hired  servant  must  take  your  place 
for  a  season.  Aren't  you  ashamed,  though,  Minn,  to  let  your 
mistress  go  on  her  bridal  tour  without  you  ?  " 

The  slave-girl  kept  on  her  task  till  the  silken  waves  of  black 
hair  grew  rapidly  into  wide  heavy  braids  that  she  wound  like  a 
coronet  about  her  mistress's  little  graceful  head ;  but  there  were 
tears  in  the  dark  diamond  eyes,  and  at  last,  just  as  the  last  jew- 
elled hair-pin  was  adjusted,  she  raised  her  dark  hand  to  dash 
away  the  blinding  drops,  and  sobbed  out : 

"  Oh,  Missis,  please  don't  think  me  ongrateful !  please  don't ! 
'Deed,  I'll  go  'long  with  you  to  the  world's  end,  though  to  be 
sure  I'd  rather  stay  on  the  old  plantation  —  and " 

"  Of  course  you  'd  rather  stop  at  home  and  marry  that  black 
Jupe,  you  silly  puss  !  And  I'd  like  to  know  what  you're  stand- 
ing there  crying  for ! "  cried  Julie  sharply,  though  a  smile  lurked 
in  the  corners  of  her  red  mouth.  "  Who's  going  to  prevent  it, 
I'd  like  to  know  !  Don't  you  suppose  that,  on  her  wedding  day, 
your  mistress  can  afford  to  be  magnanimous,  and  give  you  the 
privilege  of  accepting  your  ebony  lover,  and  of  having  a  grand 
wedding  and  being  married  by  the  minister,  instead  of  jumping 
over  the  broomstick  ?  Of  course  she  can :  so  now,  stop  crying,  I 
say ! "  and  she  stamped  her  little  foot  with  pretty  impatience, 
"  marry  Jupe  to-morrow,  if  you  like  —  the  sooner  the  better,  for 
the  other  girls  are  artful  jades  and  may  get  him  away,  you  know 
and  when  I  come  back  from  Europe,  you  shall  go  to  New  York 
with  me  arid  take  your  old  place,  while  Jupe  shall  be  my  coach- 
man. How  does  that  suit,  —  hey,  Minn  ?  "  -• 

"  Oh  thank  ye,  thank  ye,  Missy  Julie  ! "  exclaimed  the  slave 
girl,  with  a  long-drawn  sigh  of  relief,  and  eyes  sparkling  like 
diamonds.  "  'Pears  like  it's  jest  as  I  told  Jupe  this  mornin'  — 
you're  allers  the  kindest,  best  missis  in  old  Louisianny ! " 

"  Well,  well  —  you've  been  a  good  girl,  Minnie,"  said  Julie, 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         57 

patting  the  head  of  her  faithful  maid.  "  I  ought  to  make  you 
some  amends,  so  I'll  take  you  North  and  set  you  free.  How 
should  you  like  it,  child  ?  Suppose  I  should  give  you  and  Jupe 
free  papers  —  and  pay  you  wages  ?  You  know  at  the  North  we 
cannot  keep  servants  like  we  do  at  home." 

"  Missis,"  and  the  slave  girl  stopped,  and  looked  full  in  her 
mistress's  face  —  "  Missis,  I've  hearn  tell  o'  them  sneakin'  aboli- 
shioners  goin'  about  like  roarin'  lions,  stealin'  slaves  from  their 
masters  and  mistresses.  Please,  I'd  rather  not  have  anything  to 
say  to  'em,  nohow.  I'd  foller  ye  to  the  world's  end,  Miss  Julie, 
ye'r  faithful  servant,  and  the  same  with  Jupe,  I'm  sure  —  but 
'pears  like  it's  too  hard,  Missis,  to  be  hired  out  like  poor  white 
folks,  when  I'se  been  born  and  bred  in  yer  own  family,  Missis, 
and  been  a  baby  with  ye.  'Deed,  please,  I  hope  you  won't  do  it, 
Missis  Julie ! " 

Something  like  a  tear  sparkled  in  the  dark  eyes  which  were 
apparently  intent  on  surveying  the  bridal  dress  lying  over  the 
arm  of  a  low  sofa. 

"Minnie,  I  shall  not  forget  this,"  said  Julie.  "You  shall 
come  with  me  as  you  like  —  you  shall  never  leave  me.  But 
now  hasten !  dress  me  quickly  —  for  papa  hates  tardiness ;  be- 
sides, those  must  be  the  guests'  carriages  I  hear  in  the  court." 

The  slave  girl  obeyed.  The  queenly  form  of  her  mistress 
was  soon  arrayed  in  the  rich  satin  robe  covered  with  delicate 
Mechlin  lace  ;  the  dainty  feet  were  encased  in  snowy  satin  slip- 
pers ;  pearls  clasped  upon  her  rounded  arms  and  white  throat ; 
and  the  heavily  embroidered  veil  was  fastened  to  the  broad  jetty 
braids  by  sprays  of  twining  myrtle  and  orange  blossoms.  Then 
she  stepped  back  a  few  paces,  to  contemplate  admiringly  the 
effect  of  her  skilful  handiwork.  Just  then  came  a  slight  tap  at 
the  door  —  and  Revere,  faultlessly  attired,  entered ;  while  the 
train  of  bridesmaids  and  groomsmen  awaited  them  in  the  gallery 


58         PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

without.  Julie  sprang  forward  —  a  vivid  crimson  breaking  over 
her  cheek. 

"  Is  my  Julie  ready  ?  "  and  all  a  lover's  devotion  was  infused 
into  Revere's  tone  and  glance.  "  We  will  go  below." 

"  My  gloves  and  kerchief,  Minnie ! "  and  she  drew  on  the 
dainty  white  kids,  and  took  the  gossamer  fabric  so  daintily  em- 
broidered that  it  seemed  like  a  silken  cobweb  traced  with  the 
shadows  of  leaves  and  flowers. 

"  And  the  flowers  ?  Surely  my  gift  is  not  forgotten ! "  ex- 
claimed Revere,  presenting  it  gracefully. 

With  a  smile  the  girl  accepted  the  bouquet,  placed  her  hand  in 
his  arm,  but  stopped  suddenly  with  a  little  cry. 

«  What  is  it,  love  ?  " 

"  Only  a  thorn  which  cruelly  pierced  my  finger.  See  !  quite 
through  my  glove,"  and  she  held  up  one  taper  finger  discolored 
by  a  little  ruby  drop.  "  Here,  Minn,  pluck  it  off —  it  is  on  this 
superb  white  rose.  There  should  be  no  '  thorns  amid  the  roses,' 
for  me  to-day,  Augustus,"  and  her  eyes  sought  his  with  a  bright 
confiding  glance.  "  There,  let  us  go  now ! "  and  again  she  laid 
her  hand  in  his  arm. 

Why  did  Augustus  Revere  start  and  grow  pale  —  and  a  sting, 
sharper  than  thorn,  or  dagger  point,  pierce  his  heart  ?  Ah,  there 
came  between  his  vision  and  the  dark,  rich  beauty  of  the  south- 
ern girl  on  his  arm,  a  sad  white  face  framed  in  masses  of  golden 
hair,  and  haunting,  reproachful  eyes  that  almost  drove  him  mad ! 
Perhaps,  in  that  hour,  arose  vain  regrets :  but  it  was  too  late. 
The  haunting  gaze  of  those  eyes  would  follow  him  evermore  — 
and  so  he  went  forth  to  utter  love-vows  to  another. 

Along  the  wide  upper  gallery  —  down  the  broad  stair-case 
against  whose  carven  balustrades  silken  robes  rustled  —  travers- 
ing the  long  lower  hall  where  were  ranged  the  house  servants  in 
their  holiday  attire — the  train  passed,  entering  the  large  drawing- 


PEACE:  OR,  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         59 

room  where  the  affable,  dignified,  white-haired  old  General 
Courtney,  came  forward  to  receive  his  daughter. 

Then  caine  the  marriage  service,  followed  by  the  thronging  of 
guests,  kisses  and  congratulations ;  the  bridal  cake  and  wine ; 
the  retiring  of  the  bride  to  array  herself  in  travelling  robes ;  the 
clatter  of  horses  hoofs  and  roll  of  carriage  wheels  in  the  court- 
yard ;  adieus  to  guests,  relatives,  and  lastly  to  the  old  man  on 
whose  bosom  Julie  bowed  her  head  and  shed  passionate  tears ;  the 
kind  farewell  to  the  congregated  servants ;  then  the  bride  was 
handed  from  the  verandah  steps  to  the  carriage,  and  the  wedding 
cortege  whirled  away,  leaving  General  Courtney  leaning 
against  a  vine-wreathed  pillar  looking  after  them  with  dimmed 
eyes  —  half-a-dozen  mulatto  girls,  foremost  among  whom  was 
Minnie,  standing  in  a  group,  discussing  the  wedding,  the  beauty 
of  "  young  missis,"  and  the  elegance  of  the  pearl  set  "  Massa 
Revere,"  had  bestowed  as  a  bridal  present — dozens  of  heads,  gray, 
grizzly  and  black,  peeping  from  behind  the  pillars,  add  a  score 
of  little  fat,  shining  picaninnies  tumbling  about  hi  the  courtyard. 

Then  when  the  last  guest  had  departed,  the  great  house 
seemed  lonely ;  General  Courtney  shut  himself  up  hi  his 
library ;  the  long  drawing-room  was  closed,  with  its  scent  of 
flowers  and  perfumes ;  Minnie,  lonesome  and  dispirited,  uttered 
a  "  Go  along,  Jupe ! "  which  was  almost  contemptuous  when  he 
ventured  to  speak  of  their  own  wedding,  and  went  up  to  her 
mistress's  deserted  room ;  Rosa  and  Delia,  whose  department  was 
in  the  laundry,  lounged  about  the  doors,  chatting  with  the  spruce, 
tall  waiters  —  while,  in  the  kitchen,  old  Dinah  bustled  about, 
"setting  things  to  rights,"  one  moment  administering  a  sound 
cuff  to  the  "nigger"  who  dared  intrude  on  her  domains,  the 
next,  soothing  the  effects  of  the  blow  with  a  generous  slice  of  the 
wedding  cake  on  which  she  had  especially  laid  herself  out  —  and 
then,  when  old  Joe  the  coachman  came  back  at  night  from  the 


60         PEACE:  on  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

steamboat  landing  whither  he  had  taken  the  wedded  pair  in  the 
family  carriage,  and,  after  carefully  stabling  the  fat  bays,  came 
in  and  topk  his  accustomed  corner  by  the  *  kitchen  fire,  they  sat 
late  at  night,  Dinah  nodding  her  gray  head  with  its  gay  turban, 
declaring  that  "  young  missis'  weddin'  beat  any  in  ole  Louis- 
anny  this  many  a  year,"  while  the  field  negroes  danced  to  the 
banjo  in  the  court-yard,  and  the  young  moon  hung  high  like  a 
silver  shield,  and  the  whole  landscape  —  snowy  magnolia  tree 
and  cotton  field,  sparkling  lake  and  flowering  earth  —  lay  fair  and 
still  below. 

And  that  night,  too,  while  the  fair  moon  climbed  the  skies,  on 
the  deck  of  a  noble  Southern  steamer,  the  fair  bride  sat  and  wove 
her  dreams  of  happiness  ;  while  Augustus  Revere  was  silent  at 
her  side.  What  thoughts,  in  that  hour,  were  busy  at  his  heart- 
strings ? 

And  in  the  quiet  evening,  too,  in  a  far  away  New  England 
farm-house,  where  the  moonlight  fell  softly  in  through  the  small 
window-^panes  upon  an  old  fashioned  wooden  cradle  where  an 
infant  lay  in  its  slumbers,  Patience  Wedgewood,  pausing  in  her 
knitting,  bent  fondly  over  the  babe  and  said  to  the  man  who  sat 
beside  the  kitchen  fire,  "  Blessed  baby !  Reuben,  she  will  fill 
poor  lame  Katy's  place  in  our  hearts  ! "  Then,  snapping  her 
needle  afresh  at  the  commencement  of  another  "  round,"  .-lie 
sighed,  "  Dear,  dear !  I've  been  thinking  about  poor  Mary  Hal- 
pine  to-night.  I  wonder  where  that  wicked  Revere  is  ?  Seems 
to  me,  the  Lord'll  never  let  such  wickedness  as  this  go  unpun- 
ished ! " 


CHAPTER    VII. 

I  do  but  bee  a  little  changeling  boy, 
To  be  my  henchman. 

MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DPEAM. 

TWELVE  years  passed  away  evenly  and  quietly  at  the  Ridge. 
Save  for  the  silver  that  settled  on  the  gray  locks  peeping  out 
from  Patience's  cap,  and  the  wrinkles  that  seamed  Reuben's 
dark  brow,  the  recurrence  of  seed-time  and  harvest,  and  the 
transformation  of  little  Peace — the  child  of  their  adoption — from 
a  wee  babe  to  a  beautiful  girl  of  twelve  summers,  there  was  little 
change  at  the  farm-house. 

In  the  pleasant  summer-time  the  white  roses  and  sweet  briar 
bloomed  as  of  old  about  the  casement ;  the  morning-glories 
trailed  along  the  stone  wall  and  garden  fence  ;  the  garden  was 
gay  with  stately  holly-hocks,  pink  and  white  sweet  peas,  beds  of 
sweet- Williams  and  scarlet  verbena ;  tall,  regal  prince's-feather 
waved  patronizingly  over  modest  heart's-ease  and  mignonette 
blossoming  below  ;  ladies'-slipper  coquettishly  bloomed  in  saucy 
proximity  to  old-man's-beard  ;  and  love-in-a-snarl  and  old  maid's 
pinks,  somehow,  were  always  found  in  »the  immediate  vicinity 
of  plain,  grave-looking  bachelors'-buttons, —  who,  by  the  way, 
invariably  disdainfully  refused  to  return  the  nodding  and  cour- 
tesying  advances  of  the  antique  sisterhood. 

Aunt  Patience's  garden  was  the  pride  of  the  Ridge  ;  nor  was 
it  devoted  to  the  ornamental  alone.  There  were  nice  beds  of 
summer-savory  and  spearmint,  tufts  of  Avormwood,  saffron  and 
camomile,  sage,  rue,  and  balm ;  not  an  herb  in  the  long  cate- 

6  (61) 


62        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

gory  which  country  dames  hold  good  "  in  sickness,"  or  for  "  sea- 
soning," was  wanting  there. 

When  winter  came  round,  there  was  snow  and  sleet  and  cold 
without ;  drifts  covered  the  garden-beds ;  the  paths  were  blocked 
up  ;  long  icicles  were  pendent  from  the  old  brown  eaves  where 
the  swallows  built  their  nests  in  the  spring  agone  ;  the  windows 
were  painted  with  frost-pictures.  But  though  neither  flowers 
nor  greenery  nor  warmth  held  sway  outside  the  old  farm-house 
those  long  northern  winters,  joy  and  comfort,  and  one  fair  flower, 
brightened  the  hearth-stone  within. 

It  was  beautiful  to  see  how  little  Peace  had  shrined  herself  in 
those  hearts  of  erst  so  lonely.  Day  by  day,  as  her  little  form 
developed  into  more  perfect  childish  grace,  and  her  golden 
curls  lengthened  on  her  white  dimpled  shoulders,  she  came  to 
fill  that  void  in  their  affections  made  years  before,  when  poor 
lame  Katy  died  ;  and  even  as  she  had  become  necessary  to  the 
happiness  of  the  brother  and  sister,  so  throughout  all  Meadow 
Brook  was  she  beloved  and  caressed. 

Peace  was  much  as  her  mother  had  been.  Perhaps  the  child's 
features  were  not  so  regularly  beautiful ;  but  there  was  more  of 
character  in.  their  stronger  outline.  Her  eyes  were  not  so  soft 
and  dreamy,  but  they  had  a  rare  sparkle  of  spirit  and  intelli- 
gence. Her  long  golden  hair,  and  lithe,  tall,  slender  form,  was 
the  counterpart  of  one  now  mouldering  under  the  green  sods  of 
Wood  Hill. 

Possessing  robust  health,  and  an  exuberant  affectionate  gay- 
ety  of  manner  which  had  never  been  tamed  by  sorrow  or  re- 
straint, the  girl  was  the  light  of  the  farm-house.  There  were 
the  wildest  of  romps  with  old  Bruno  and  innumerable  pet  kit- 
tens ;  depredatory  excursions  for  turkeys'  eggs  in  the  long  barn  ; 
and  when  Uncle  Reuben  led  the  old  white  horse  to  the  wooden 
watering-trough,  Peace  dearly  loved  to  stroke  his  face,  and,  fol- 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  63 

lowing  him  back  to  the  stall,  hold  him  long  wisps  of  hay  to  eat 
frgm  her  hand.  Then  there  were  such  glorious  rides  on  the 
hay-carts !  such  climbing  of  cherry  trees !  such  gatherings  of 
golden  russets  and  cherry-cheeked  Baldwins !  and  rambles  in  the 
autumn  woods,  to  gather  walnuts,  listen  to  the  woodpeckers' 
drumming  call  in  the  trees,  or  watch  the  cunning  little  squirrels 
peeping  so  shyly  down  upon  her  through  the  high  branches, 
chattering  playfully,  and  then,  with  a  whisk  of  their  bushy  tails, 
darting  away ! 

But  the  girl  loved  best  to  sit  on  Reuben's  knee  in  the  long 
whiter  evenings  and  wind  her  white  arms  about  his  neck  with  a 
kiss  on  his  brown  furrowed  cheek  ;  or  listen  to  the  nursery  tales 
Aunt  Patience  recounted,  —  how  little  "  Red  Riding  Hood " 
.went  forth  on  her  mission  of  mercy  to  the  poor  old  grandmother, 
and  fell  a  victim  to  the  ravening  wolf,  —  how  fated  "  Cock 
Robin "  met  an  untimely  end,  —  and  the  poor  "  Babes  in  the 
Woods  "  lay  down  from  their  wanderings  and  were  covered  with 
leaves  by  the  dear  little  birds ;  or,  bringing  her  books  and  slate, 
to  read  and  cipher,  while  Uncle  Reuben  played  school-master, 
and  Patience,  pausing  in  her  spinning  or  knitting,  listened  in 
rapt  admiration  to  the  ready  scholar. 

But  another  member  had  been  added  to  the  family  at  the 
Ridge.  Chip  "Weed  —  how  shall  I  describe  him  ?  A  tall,  thin, 
long-armed,  freckled,  "  tow-headed,"  quaint,  half-witted  boy,  of 
some  seven  or  eight  years,  who,  when  little  Peace  had  numbered 
six  summers,  presented  himself  one  fine  morning  in  June  at  the 
open  door  of  the  farm-house,  and,  in  the  queerest  shrill,  squeak- 
ing, treble  voice,  and  with  a  comical  assumption  of  gravity  on 
his  sharp  quizzical  features,  asked  Reuben  Wedgewood  if  he 
wanted  "  to  hire ! " 

The  farmer  looked  up  from  the  breakfast  table  as  that  little 
shadow  fell  aslant  the  doorway,  and  that  thin  treble  voice  cut  the 


64         PEACE:  on  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

air,  and  beheld  a  head  surmounted  by  an  old  torn  hat  peering 
wistfully  in  upon  them. 

A  smile  broke  over  his  dark,  sun-burned  features,  as  the  ques- 
tion was  repeated ;  Patience  lowered  her  fork  which  was  con- 
veying a  choice  bit  of  ham  to  her  mouth ;  while  little  Peace 
looked  wonderingly  from  behind  her  bright  pewter  mug  at  the 
outre  figure  which,  clad  in  a  curious  mixture  of  man's  and  boy's 
apparel,  —  a  long,  swallow-tailed  coat,  minus  half  "  the  appen- 
dages," trousers  of  homespun  stuff,  and  a  ragged  felt  hat, — 
stood  gazing  alternately  at  the  group  about  the  breakfast  table 
and  the  smoking  viands  upon  it. 

"  What  a  funny  thing !  Is  it  a  boy,  or  little  old  man  ?  "  she 
whispered. 

But  Patience  did  not  reply ;  for  she  evidently  was  quite  as 
much  mystified  as  the  child  concerning  their  strange  visitor, 
who,  in  answer  to  a  "Come  in"  from  Reuben,  lifted  his  bare 
feet  over  the  threshold,  removed  his  hat,  and  with  a  queer  bow 
and  a  sort  of  uncouth  grace,  thrust  his  little  lean  body  into  a 
chair  close  by. 

"  Well,  sir,  and  so  you  want  to  let  yourself,  you  say  ?  "  asked 
Reuben,  striving  to  repress  a  laugh.  But  the  boy  did  not 
answer,  apparently  not  hearing  the  query,  but  sat  staring  at 
Peace  with  his  little,  dim,  squinting,  blue  eyes. 

"  Come,  come  ;  speak  up,  sir,"  Where'd  you  come  from  ?  " 

The  nondescript  started  from  his  blank  staring  reverie.  A 
cunning  leer  deepened  about  his  mouth  and  twinkled  in  his  lit- 
tle eyes. 

"  He,  he ! "  he  laughed,  pointing  with  one  long  bird's-claw 
finger  down  the -white,  dusty  highway,  nodding  his  head  the 
while ;  "  He,  he,  he !  Run  away  from  over  there,  sir  ;  been 
livin'  there.  Couldn't  keep  me  any  longer ;  nobody  stays.  I 
wouldn't,  either !  Made  me  work  like  a  nigger  —  pick  taters, 


PEACE  :     OB    THE    STOLEX    WILL.  65 

pull  weeds,  —  starve  everybody  over  there ;  guess  they  wont 
ever  catch  me  again  ! "  and  with  a  gesture  of  determination, 
poking  the  crown  of  his  hat  vigorously,  he  s'ettled  back  in  his 
chair. 

"  A  pauper,  run  away  from  Elton  poor-house  most  likely," 
said  Patience  to  her  brother. 

"  So  I  reckon,"  was  the  reply.  "  They  do  work  'em  like 
slaves  over  there,  children  and  all,  I've  heard  say,  almost  starv- 
ing 'em  into  the  bargain.  Poor  thing !  give  him  some  breakfast ; 
he  looks  as  though  he  hadn't  eaten  for  a  week." 

Patience  heaped  a  plate  from  the  bountifully  supplied  table 
and  placed  a  chair.  "  Come,  sit  up,  and  help  yourself,  Tom, 
Dick,  Harry  —  what's  your  name  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Wedgewood, 
rising  from  the  table. 

"  Chip  —  Chip  Weed.  —  I  likes  it  best  the  way  Bill  Green 
writes  it  on  his  slate  at  school,  with  a  tail  to  it —  E-s-q. — that's 
for  'Squire,  you  know,  same  as  'Squire  Hardy  spells  his'n,"  — 
and  the  boy  cast  another  cunning  leer  from  his  little,  dim,  blue 
eyes,  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  table  and  began  cramming  his 
mouth  with  food. 

"The  Lord!"  exclaimed  Patience  with  uplifted  hands;  "he's 
a  half-wit ! "  while  Reuben  smiled,  and  little  Peace  slid  down 
from  her  high  chair,  and  going  up  close  where  he'  sat,  at  the 
north  window,  whispered,  gleefully,  "Ain't  he  funny,  Uncle 
Reuben  ?  do  see  him  eat ;  ain't  he  most  starved  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so,  pet,"  was  the  reply,  lifting  her  into  his 
lap  ;  then  Mr.  Wedgewood  smilingly  watched  the  boy  who 
voraciously  devoured  his  food,  casting  between  mouthfuls  earn- 
est, almost  wondering  glances,  at  the  little  girl. 

"  Well,  brother,  did  you  ever  ?  "  exclaimed  Patience,  who  had 
stood  with  hands  folded  over  her  wide  checked  apron  during  the 
progress  of  the  meal,  till  the  boy  at  length  rose  from  the  table, 
6* 


66       .  PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

leaving  his  plate  clean  and  polished,  so  literally  had  he  obeyed 
the  injunction  to  '  help  himself.'  —  "  Did  you  ever,  Reuben  ?  " 

A  compassionate  smile  was  her  answer.  "  Well,  Mr.  Chip 
Weed,  Esq.,  if  you've  satisfied  the  '  inner  man,'  we'll  proceed  to 
business  now,"  he  said  facetiously. 

Chip,  meantime,  had  taken  his  old  seat  by  the  door  and  lifted 
his  torn  hat  from  the  floor,  and  now  sat  thumbing  its  well  worn 
brim,  staring  straight  at  the  little  girl  peeping  shyly  yet 
curiously  from  her  hiding  place  on  Reuben's  shoulder.  Taking 
no  notice  of  the  farmer's  words,  but  removing  his  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment to  Patience's  face,  he  squeaked  out  shrilly,  pointing  to 
Peace,  "  Is  she  an  angel,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Yes,  /think  so,"  replied  Reuben  fondly,  while  Peace  laughed 
outright,  then  hid  her  face  ;  but  the  spinster  looked  gravely 
through  her  glasses,  and  said,  "No,  that  is  our  little  girl — Peace. 
But  what  made  you  ask  such  a  question,  Chip  ?  " 

"  Oh,  becos  I  seed  a  picter  of  one  once,  in  old  granny  White's- 
big  Bible,  over  there,"  pointing  his  finger  down  the  highway ; 
"and  she  looks  jest  like  it — so  kind  o'  white  and  soft,  like 
cotton-wool  ;  but  if  she  ain't  an  angel,  she's  putty  nigh  one,  I 
vum  ! '  and  he  gave  the  old  hat  an  emphatic  poke.  "  If  you're 
a  little  gal,  you're  an  uncommon  nice  one,  any  how  !  "  And  he 
nodded  patronizingly  towards  Peace,  and  again  uttered  that 
shrill,  chuckling  laugh,  unlike  anything  human  the  dwellers  of 
the  farm-house  had  ever  heard  before. 

"  Well,  well,  let  us  talk  about  business!  "  said  Reuben.  "  What 
can  you  do  to  make  yourself  useful  ? " 

"  Hey  ?  "  said  the  boy,  in  his  highest  key,  as  if  not  compre- 
hending the  query. 

"  What  can  you  do  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Wedgewood. 

"  Work  ?  —  hey  ?  " — and  Chip  brightened  up,  chattering  volubly 
and  shrilly — "  Why,  I  cuts  wood,  fetches  water,  feeds  the  pigs, 


PEACE:   OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  67 

drives  the  cows,  and  does  lots  of  everything.  Done  heaps,  over 
there.  '  Twas  '  Chip,  come  here  ! '  and  '  Run,  you  lazy  dog  ! '  and 
'  Scoot,  you  nigger  ! '"  —  every  sentence  uttered  with  a  grimace 
and  vigorous  indentation  of  the  felt  hat-crown.  —  "  And  so,  at 
last,  I  ups  and  runs  away  ;-*— couldn't  stand  so  much,  ye 
see  ! " 

"  Oh,  uncle,  how  he  bends  that  old  hat  up !  See  what  funny 
fingers !  just  like  the  old  speckled  hen's  feet  —  so  long  and 
crooked !  "  broke  in  Peace. 

"  Then  you  would  like  to  come  and  live  here,  and  do  chores, 
Chip  ?  Hey,  pet,"  pinching  her  cheeks,  "  would  you  let 
him?" 

"  0  yes,  do  !  he's  so  funny  ! "  exclaimed  the  delighted  child ; 
"  he's  so  funny  !  and  I  guess  he's  clever,  and  wont  strike  old 
Cherry,  and  '  hurrup'  her  along,  as  Johnny  Sanders  does,  when 
she  stops  just  to  bite  a  mouthful  of  grass.  Are  you  real  good  to 
cows  ?  "  she  asked,  sliding  down  from  Reuben's  arms  and  going 
up  to  the  boy. 

"  Wall,  yes  —  I  guess  so,"  replied  Chip,  gazing  with  admiring 
reverence  at  the  little  girl's  pink  cheeks  and  long  curls  ;  "  you 
see,  if  cows  only  know  what's  what,  and  don't  hook,  or  run  off, 
and  bother  me  —  " 

"  Oh,  but  Cherry  is  the  best  mooly  cow  you  ever  saw  !  "  broke 
in  Peace.  "  She'll  let  me  touch  her  face,  or  horns,  with  my 
hand ;  and  when  Aunty  milks,  she  stands  just  as  still  as  a  mice 
—  and  don't  kick  a  mite ! " 

"  Well,  pet,  that'll  do  for  now ;  I  guess  we'll  keep  him.  Chip, 
you  can  stay,  I  reckon." 

Patience  now  came  forward.     "  For  gracious'  sake,  what  are 
you  doing,  brother  Reuben  ?     What  are  we  to  do  with  a  natural 
under  our  ruff  ?     Why,  he'll  be  more  plague  'n  profit ! " 
•  "  Jest  what  they  said  over  there,  ma'am !  "  briskly  ejaculated 


bO  PEACE  :     OK    THE    STOiEN    WILL. 

the  boy,  looking  up  into  her  face  with  such  a  comical  expression 
of  cunning  and  good-humor  that  the  spinster  was  almost  won 
over,  spite  of  herself.  "  That's  jest  what  they  said  every  day  !" 
and  he  nodded  between  each  word. 

"  No,  no,  sister,  let  us  keep  him.  I've  taken  quite  a  fancy  to 
the  lad.  He  seems  willing  and  handy,  and  you  need  somebody 
to  do  the  chores." 

"But  for  mercy's  sake,  get  somebody  that'll  be  of  some 
airthly  use ;  don't,  Reuben,  bring  a  half-wit  into  the  house,  — 
and  such  a  looking  object,  too  ! "  and  she  pursed  up  her  lips,  and 
began  clearing  up  the  breakfast  things  in  silence. 

"  O,  I'll  risk  that,  Patience !  To  be  sure,  he  don't  look  re- 
markably handsome  ;  but  when  we  get  him  out  of  his  rags  and 
into  a  good,  strong,  clean  suit,  he'll  look  like  another  boy.  Be- 
sides —  " 

"  Ma'am,"  broke  in  the  boy,  eyeing  Patience  with  a  grin, 
"'Handsome  is  that  handsome  does,'  so  old  granny  White 
says ; "  and  he  uttered  his  short,  shrill  laugh.  "  Don't  look  very 
nice  now,  but  can  slick  up,  you  know.  This  ain't  my  Sunday- 
hat  —  got  a  new  straw  one  over  there  —  left  it,  though,"  —  and 
he  twisted  the  ragged  brim  quite  out  of  an  apology  for 
shape. 

Patience  laughed  now  —  how  could  she  help  it  ?  and  Eeuben 
continued  — 

"  Besides,  as  I  was  going  to  say,  he  amuses  Peace ;  so  I 
guess  we'd  better  conclude  to  keep  him,  sister.  He's  been  ne- 
glected and  ill-treated  —  that's  evident  enough.  You'll  find  him 
useful  about  the  house,  I'll  warrant.  Let  him  stay,  and  I'll  ride 
over  to  Elton  town-farm  to-morrow,  and  if  he  belongs  there 
get  him  bound  out  to  me.  They're  overrun  with  paupers,  and'll 
be  glad  to'  get  one  off  their  hands,  I  reckon.  But  come,  my 
lad,"  taking  up  his  hat,  "  come  out  doors ;  I  want  to  see  how 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         69 

smart  you  are ! "  and  with  a  kiss  on  Peace's  cheek  and  a  cheer- 
ful "  good-morning,  sister,"  he  went  out,  followed  by  the 
boy. 

So  it  happened  that  the  poor,  quaint,  half-witted,  friendless 
orphan  boy,  Chip  Weed,  was  "bound  out"  to  Reuben  Wedge- 
wood,  and  thenceforth  became  a  fixture  at  the  Kidge. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

How  she  moved 

In  her  young  beauty  round  him,  with  a  tone 
Which  to  his  old  ear  seemed  that  voice  beloved,  — 
The  low,  sweet  accents  of  his  long-lost  one. 

WHITTIEB. 

IN  six  years  Chip  had  become  right-hand  man  at  the  Eidge. 
Grown  taller,  less  awkward,  but  still  quaint  and  original  in  his 
sayings  and  doings,  —  always  chattering  volubly  hi  his  piping 
voice  in  doors  and  out,  to  Aunt  Patience,  Peace,  Mr.  Wedge- 
wood,  the  hired  help,  and  the  neighbors,  he  had  become  well- 
known  as  a  harmless,  droll,  "queer  genius," — such  an  eccen- 
tricity as  almost  every  country  neighborhood  possesses  within  its 
limits.  At  the  Ridge  farm  he  was  thoroughly  domesticated; 
and  if  ever  master's  interests  were  those  of  the  servant,  then 
were  Reuben's  the  boy's,  —  for  he  performed  every  duty  with 
an  alacrity  that  showed  "  his  will  was  to  do  it." 

To  be  sure,.  Chip  had  his  troubles  and  trials.  Never  was 
there  happiness  unalloyed,  career  ever  victorious.  Napoleon 
had  his  Waterloo,  Caesar  his  Rubicon,  Persia  her  Marathon, 
Sparta  her  Thermopylae,  —  and  Chip  his  defeats.  Neither  by 
fire  or  sword,  famine  or  pestilence,  were  these  repulses  effected ; 
still  they  came. 

To  use  his  own  phrase,  he  was  "  pestered  to  death  "  half  the 
time.  Sometimes  those  villanous  thieves,  the  crows,  hovered 
over  the  corn-fields  and  laid  long  ranks  of  tender  blades  in 
ruins ;  and  then  Chip  stormed,  and  vowed  vengeance,  and  made 
up  hideous  "  scare-crows,"  and  hung  pieces  of  shining  tin  across 

(70) 


PEACES  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  71 

i ;  Peace,  meantime,  suggesting  slyly,  that  for  frighten- 
purposes  no  other  image  was  needed  than  the  figure  of  the 
tall  uncouth  boy  himself,  which  proposal,  though  listened  to  with- 
out a  dissenting  voice  on  his  part,  somehow  was  never  adopted ; 
sometimes  the  old  wether,  encountering  him  in  the  "  sheep  pas- 
ture,"  waged  a  war  which  generally  ended  in  the  rout  of  the 
assaulted  party  and  a  retreat  over  fence  or  stone  wall ;  then, 
often,  the  "  black  cow  "  —  quite  a  different  quadruped  so  far  as' 
tractability  was  involved,  —  from  Peace's  favorite  "  Cherry,"  — 
had  a  perverse  talent  of  testing  the  comparative  merits  of  '  horns 
versus* fences,'  or,  in  other  words,  proved  "breachy,"  on  which 
occasions  Chip's  long  limbs  were  put  in  requisition  to  scour  the 
pastures  and  bring  the  truant  home ;  and  yet  the  lad  lost  his 
temper  in  no  instance  on  record  save  one,  when,  after  a  longer 
trip  than  usual,  he  returned  with  the  refractory  animal  "  hob- 
bled "  —  and  upon  "  putting  up  the  bars  "  of  the  yard  where  he 
had  fastened  her,  he  was  heard  to  give  utterance  to  something 
very  like  a  profane  expletive,  with  an  accompanying  wish  that 
"  the  plaguy  critter  was  dead,  and  in  heaven ! " 

"  Why,  Chip,"  exclaimed  Peace  who  stood  in  the  shed  door, 
"You're  real  wicked!  You  swore,  and  I'll  tell  Uncle  Reuben. 
Besides,  cows  don't  go  to  heaven  when  they  die,  they  hav'nt  got 
souls." 

"  Well,  darn  it  —  that  ain't  swearing,  anyhow,"  replied  the  boy 
in  triumph.  "  I  don't  care  !  The  plaguy  critter  pesters  me  most 
to  death.  And  I  don't  believe  I  swore,  either ;  I  only  said 
strong  talk  to  her.  You  see,  Miss  Peace,  faint  quite  so  easy 
hunting  up  runaway  cows ;  and  when  I  do  catch  her,  I  allers  talks 
up  smart  to  her,  and  calkalates  she'll  remember  it  next  time." 

"  But  does  she,  Chip  ?  "  asked  Peace  with  a  laugh. 

"  Lord,  no ! "  he  replied,  sitting  down  on  the  old  chopping- 
block  in  the  yard,  and  poking  his  bare  feet  among  the  chips 


72         PEACE:  on  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

"  She's  jest  the  wust  beast  in  town.  T'dont  do  an 
jaw  her  all  you  can.  She's  got  the  poorest  remembrance  I  ever 
seed.  Now  you  jest  whip  a  dog,  and  he'll  behave  like  a  gentle- 
man ;  but  old  Smut,  the  uglier  you  be,  she  follers  suit.  She  ups 
and  runs  away  agin.  'Tain't  no  use,  anyway ! " 

Then  there  were  other  troubles.  Often  the  old  gobbler  took 
the  inflammatory  idea  into  his  head,  that  the  sanguinary  hue  of 
Chip's  red  flannel  shirt  was  ominous  of  evil  to  the  queen  of  his 
harem  who  went  forth  with  stately  steps  at  the  head  of  her  brood, 
and  then  followed  sundry  shrill  cries  and  flapping  of  wings,  and 
"  fell  swoops  "  on  the  boy's  devoted  head ;  but  from  such  encoun- 
ters he  usually  came  off  victorious. 

But  not  to  out-of-door-dom  was  Chip's  orbit  confined.  Within 
the  domestic  sphere  he  rendered  himself  useful.  Indeed,  it  was 
quite  wonderful  how  many  pails  of  water  were  needed  from  the 
old  well ;  how  the  piles  of  hickory  and  maple  for  firing  were 
kept  constantly  replenished  in  the  wood-shed ;  and  what  a  con- 
stant call  for  "  Chip  ! "  "  Chip  !  "  fell  from  Patience's  lips.  Nor, 
while  the  lad  was  rendering  himself  so  useful  to  others,  had  lie 
neglected  himself.  In  his  way,  he  was  getting  to  be  something 
of  a  scholar ;  for  the  winter  months  found  him  at  the  district 
school,  where,  besides  proving  an  invaluable  treasure  for  the 
boys  in  the  shape  of  a  good-humored  target  for  all  their  tricks 
and  practical  jokes,  he  had  managed  to  read  through  the  "  Second 
Book,"  spell  promptly  and  shrilly  above  half-a-dozen  bigger 
boys ;  and  scrawl  a  few  uncouth  hieroglyphics,  designated  as 
'writing,'  in  his  copy  book  which  was  his  pride  as  it  was  the  es- 
pecial delight  of  the  whole  school.  And  on  long  winter  even- 
ings, when  Peace  brought  forth -her  books  and  sat  at  the  round 
table  by  the  kitchen  fire,  Chip  came  also  with  his  spelling  book, 
or  slate  on  which  he  did  sums  in  Simple  Addition,  or  dashed  off 
rapidly  and  with  immense  capital  letters,  his  name,  with  the  af- 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         73 

fixed  abbreviation  to  which  he  still  clung  with  affectionate  tena- 
city —  "  Chip  Weed,  Esq." 

In  the  household,  he  also  manifested  a  decided  talent  for  what 
is  now  denominated" the  "  Partingtonian "  style  of  conversation; 
only  that,  in  those  days,  our  popular  myth,  the  dear  old  Dame, 
with  her  "doings  and  sayings,"  had  not  nourished,  consequently 
her  fame  could  not  have  reached  the  precincts  of  Meadow  Brook. 
Never  a  high-sounding,  euphonious  word  was  uttered  in  his 
presence,  but,  by  some  inserted,  perverted,  or  newly-coined  sylla- 
ble, Chip  endeavored  to  improve  on  the  original.  In  his  insa- 
tiate desire  to  exercise  his  talent  for  cookery,  this  propensity 
most  prevailed.  Did  Patience  concoct  pies  or  puddings,  he 
knew  all  the  required  "  ingrediences ; "  did  she  mix  sour  milk 
biscuit,  he  ran  for  the  saleratus  to  "  resolve ; "  did  she  brew  ginger 
beer,  he  gave  his  opinion  of  the  exact  quantity  of  "  emptyings  " 
requisite  for  the  beverage  to  "  efferment,; "  and  so  his  ludicrous 
blunders  furnished  ample  scope  for  the  risibilities  of  the  house- 
hold. 

Peace  was  "  an  angel "  still  in  the  boy's  estimation ;  a  being 
of  a  superior  order,  to  be  worshipped  afar  off;  and  it  was  quite 
touching  oft-times  to  witness  the  simple,  but  beautiful  proofs  of 
his  devotion.  Did  a  snow-storm  whirl  over  the  bold  hills  that 
environed  Meadow  Brook,  next  day  when  the  ways  were  trod- 
den, Chip  brought  out  his  sled  with  strong  white  ash  "  stouters," 
and  folding  a  soft  buffalo  skin  for  a  cushion  seated  Peace  there- 
on like  a  little  queen  clad  in  her  royal  red  cloak  and  hood  bor- 
dered with  swans'  down,  then  drew  her  carefully  and  swiftly  to 
the  old  red  school-house  on.  the  hill ;  did  the  mill-pond  freeze 
over  hard  and  glassy,  he  gave  her  sftch  nice  slides ;  in  spring  he 
culled  her  bouquets  of  wild-flowers  fantastically  arranged,  picked 
checkerberries  where  they  grew  large  and  red  at  the  bottom  of 
Sweet  Fern  Hill,  and  brought  the  hang-bird's  long,  purse-like 

7 


74         PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

nests,  with  such  cunning  little  mottled  eggs  in  them ;  in  summer 
he  culled  fruit  and  berries  from  the  pastures, 'waded  through 
brooks  to  get  the  shining  silver  leaf  and  splendid  crimson  cardi- 
nal flowers  from  opposite  banks,  and  when  he  went  with  Reuben 
in  the  large  ox-team  to  the  distant  sea-shore  to  bring  loads  of 
long,  wet,  brown  sea-weed  for  farm  "  dressing,"  gathered  shells 
and  sand  rattles,  and  culled  the  little  oval  berries  from  the  matted 
weeds  to  string  into  bracelets  for  her  dimpled  arms  ?  and  in 
autumn  he  roved  the  woods  for  nuts,  entrapped  some  unwary 
red  squirrel,  or  tamed  the  wild  rabbit  for  her  pet.  So,  in  a  hun- 
dred ways,  did  the  quaint  half-witted  boy  show  his  devotion  to 
the  beautiful  child. 

But  Peace  was  getting  to  be  a  tall  girl  now.  Twelve  sum- 
mers had  deepened  the  gold  of  her  hair  to  a  pale  burnished 
brown,  and  added  a  darker  hue  to  her  violet  eyes.  She  was  no 
longer  the  child,  content  with  spending  hours  at  romps  with  old 
Bruno ;  sliding  over  the  ice,  holding  Chip's  hand ;  sitting  on 
•  Reuben's  knee,  or,  hanging  about  Patience's  neck  listening  to 
nursery  tales.  Not  that  she  was  less  affectionate  than  of  old ;  on 
the  contrary  she  grew  more  tender  and  thoughtful  for  her  dear 
protectors ;  and  Patience  had  a  sort  of  pride  in  watching  her 
quiet,  graceful  movements,  and  the  farmer  would  stop  in  reading 
his  paper  to  stroke  her  curly  head,  or  ask  a  kiss  from  the  "  little 
woman "  who  had  brought  him  his  glasses  and  slippers,  and 
pushed  his  arm-chair  up  to  the  fire-place.  And  now,  often  of 
evenings,  she  sat  over  her  books,  and  the  school-master  "  drop- 
ped in  "  to  show  her  a  little  about  some  hard  lesson  —  for  Peace 
was  the  pride  of  the  district  school ;  while  Patience  paused  in 
her  knitting  to  peer  through^her  glasses  at  the  books  whose  lore 
Peace  acquired  so  rapidly,  wondering  that  "  one  small  head  could 
carry  all  she  knew." 

Ah,  the  district  school !  what  memories  rise  before  us  now  of 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         75 

0 

those  days  when  we,  too,  turned  our  childish  feet  thither !  of  the 
old  school-house,  its  wooden  desks  whittled  by  the  boys'  jack- 
knives  ;  the  tall  desk  where  "  the  master "  sat  behind  a  pile  of 
copy  books  with  a  pen  over  his  ear ;  the  blackboard  and  maps 
on  the  white-washed  walls ;  the  names  carved  on  the  window- 
casings  ;  the  water-pail  on  the  bench  in  the  corner ;  the  win- 
dows, where  on  long  summer  afternoons  the  flies  buzzed  and 
bumped  their  heads,  and  the  dust-mottled  bars  of  sunlight  length- 
ened in  over  the  slant  benches ;  the  sandy  play-ground  before 
the  door,  where  the  little  girls  hunted  "  for  pins  "  at  recess,  or 
played  "  Puss,  puss  in  the  corner ; "  the  shady  nook  under  the 
elm  in  the  corner  of  the  yard,  where  the  elder  ones  brought  out 
their  books  to  study,  loath  for  the  rap  which  called  them  in. 

And  the  scholars,  too !  There  were  half-a-dozen  tall  boys  — 
taller  than  the  master,  even  —  who  came  after  'planting,'  and 
'  haying,'  and  in  the  winter-time,  doing  sums  in  Cube  and  Square 
Root  in  .Adams's  Arithmetic,  and,  that  finished,  diving  into  the 
mysteries  of  Surveying,  and  Day's  Algebra ;  filling  the  black- 
boards with  equations  where  '  X  equalling  the  unknown  power,' 
and  '  plus '  and  '  minus '  mingled  together  in  (to  us)  most  inex- 
tricable confusion ;  a  class  of  great  girls,  who  sat  on  the  "  back 
seat,"  and  wore  their  hair  "  done  up,"  and  "  rosettes,"  and  wrote 
compositions  and  studied  Chemistry,  rattling  off  with  glib  tongues 
formidable  phrases  about '  oxygen '  and  '  nitrogen '  and  '  carbonic 
acid  gas,'  and  flirted  with  the  above  mentioned  tall  boys,  or  "  the 
master,"  even,  if  he  were  some  young,  handsome  college  student, 
at  noons,  by  the  wayside,  at  evening  sleigh-rides  or  singing- 
schools. 

Then  occurred  the  Annual  "  Exhibition,"  when  we  trimmed 
the  old  school-house  with  plaited  oak  leaves  and  winter-green ; 
and  "  the  Committee,"  with  a  host  of  visitors,  parents,  friends 
and  neighbors,  honored  us  with  their  presence  while  the  stereo- 


76         PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

* 

typed  performances  went  on  —  recitations,  dialogues,  and  decla- 
mations —  in  one  of  which  latter  exercises,  one  little  bright,  smart 
lame  fellow  "  brought  down  the  house  "  by  purposely  rendering 
a  hackneyed  quotation" : 

"  You'd  scarce  expect  me,  on  one  leg, 
To  speak  in  public  on  the  stage,"  etc. 

Such  long  morning  walks  by  grassy  shady  road  sides,  conning 
our  lessons  as  we  sauntered  along !  such  satchels,  heavily  laden 
with  apples  and  doughnuts  for  dinner !  such  "  noonings  "  in  the 
deserted  school-house,  or  under  the  great  oak  in  the  forest  be- 
hind, where  the  waters  of  the  "  Boiling  Spring  "  bubbled  up  clear 
and  sweet  from  the  bank  beneath,  and  the  shining  minnows 
darted  through  the .  brook,  and  the  foliage-shadows  quivered ! 
Oh  those  dear  old  scenes,  those  dear  old  days,  they  can  never 
come  to  us  again  —  for,  alas,  we  can  "  never  be  twice  a  child ! " 

But  back  from  our  digression. 

While  little  Peace  sat  at  her  studies,  her  golden  curls  sweep- 
ing the  open  book  pages,  Reuben  Weclgewood,  apparently  poring 
over  the  advertisements  or  the  '  weekly  market '  in  his  paper,  or 
dozing  in  his  arm-chair  with  half-shut  eyes,  was  thinking  of  days 
in  the  long  gone  past  when  that  fair  girl's  mother  had  been  all 
the  world  to  him.  Since  the  time  when  the  child  has  been  added 
to  the  farm-house,  there  has  been  a  great  change  in  him.  He 
did  hot  go  about,  moody,  or  sad,  as  formerly  ;  but  a  quiet  he  had 
not  known  in  the  days  succeeding  his  great  trial  had  come  to 
liim.  But  he  spoke  little  of  the  dead.  His  strong,  true,  but 
delicate  heart  did  not  permit  him  to  drag  forth  his  sorrow  from 
its  hiding-place  and  handle  it  over ;  but  he  went  often,  and  kept- 
long  vigils  beside  a  grave  on  Wood  Hill,  by  night,  when  the 
dark  pines  and  firs  shivered  in  the  sobbing  winds,  or  the  summer 
moonlight,  sifting  through  their  branches,  shadowed  the  sod. 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         77 

Had  this  man  been  born  under  more  fostering  circumstances, 
and  with  the  advantages  of  an  education  and  culture,  he  might 
have  been  what  Nature  certainly  intended  him  for,  what  God 
gave  him  those  fine  feelings  and  impulses  of  a  tender  heart  for  — 
a  poet ;  as  it  was,  he  was  but  a  plain,  home-spun  farmer. 

First  a  shy,  bashful  youth,  —  then,  in  his  early  manhood,  de- 
voting his  energies  to  the  all-absorbing  sacred  task  of  redeeming 
the  homestead  of  his  fathers,  —  so  years  had  passed ;  and  when, 
later,  he  began  to  think  of  another  life,  sweetened  by  dearer  do- 
mestic ties,  then  came  that  blow  which  almost  seared  his  heart. 

And  now,  with  the  frosts  of  over  fifty  winters  in  his  hair,  what 
was  he  ?  A  prematurely  old,  weary  man,  who  quietly  and  pa- 
tiently went  about  his  daily  toils, — whose  life  was  only  bright- 
ened by  one  sunbeam,  little  Peace,  —  whose  saddest,  yet  hap- 
piest moments,  were  passed  beside  a  grave. 

Is  Uncle  Reuben  alone  with  his  "  dead  Past  ?  " 

Walks  not  among  us  to  day  many  another,  whose  heart  is  a 
tomb,  where  the  dead  are  kept  in  an  inner  cell  over  whose  shut 
door  is  written  "  Precious  ?  "  a  broken  vase,  where  "  the  scent 
of  the  roses  will  cling  round  it  still  ?  "  an  unstrung  lute,  whose 
riven  cords  can  never  be  gathered  up  save  by  pale  fingers  reach- 
ing downward  from  the  Invisible  Land  ?  —  a  moaning  sea,  upon 
whose  lone  shore  waves  break  with  one  sad  burthen  —  "  It  might 
have  been  ?  " 

7* 


CHAPTER    IX. 

"  The  good  die  first ; 

But  they  whose  hearts  are  dry  as  summer  dust 
Burn  to  the  socket." 

AT  last  there  came  a  sad  day  at  the  Ridge.  Aunt  Patience 
had  a  fall  upon  the  ice  in  the  previous  winter,  of  which  she 
never  recovered ;  and,  when  the  next  autumn  came,  she  grew 
much  worse.  Herbs,  potions,  and  mixtures  were  of  no  avail, 
and  so  another  winter  dragged  hopelessly  by ;  and  when  early 
spring  came  round  with  soft  airs,  wasted  by  a  slow,  lingering 
fever  she  lay  pale,  helpless,  and  very  weak  upon  her  bed  ;  and 
as  the  warmer  days  came,  they  brought  no  strength  for  the  suf- 
ferer, but  she  grew  paler  and  weaker  instead4;  and  one  after- 
noon, when  the  doctor  had  been  with  her  longer  than  usual,  and 
gone  away  with  a  grave  shake  of  his  gray  head,  and  Reuben 
came  out  from  his  sister's  bedroom  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  Pa- 
tience asked  in  a  faint  voice  for  Peace. 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  dear,"  she  said  slowly,  taking  the 
girl's  little  soft,  warm  hand  between  her  own  withered  chilly 
ones.  "I've  been  telling  Reuben  how  hard  it'll  be  to  leave 
Mm;  but,  my  poor  girl,  who'll  look  after  you  when  old  Aunt 
Patience  is  gone  ?  But  there  !  don't  cry,  dear ! "  —  for  Peace,  to 
'  whom  the  probability  of  death  had  never  before  presented  itself, 
had  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow,  sobbing  as  though  her  heart 
would  break,  —  "don't  take  on  so,  darlin'!  —  we've  all  got  to  go 
sooner  or  later ;  and  if  we're  only  ready,  it  don't  matter  much 
when.  I  hope  the  Lord'll  have  mercy  on  me  !  I've  tried  to  do 
His  will  as  well  as  a  poor  human  creeter  can  ;  I've  done  my 

(78) 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         79 

best  to  be  faithful  to  Reuben  and  you,  Peace  ;  but  we're  all 
poor  short-sighted  creeters,  and  the  best  of  us  come  short.  Don't 
take  on  so,  dear !  You  must  be  brave,  and  cheer  up  Reuben 
when  I'm  —  gone  ; "  and  she  spoke  huskily.  "  Reuben,  come 
in  !  "  —  for  the  faithful  brother,  unwilling  to  leave  her,  hovered 
near  the  bedroom  door,  —  "  come  here,  and  try  to  comfort  this 
poor,  dear  child  !  " 

Reuben  obeyed ;  took  Peace  in  his  arms,  and  sat  down  by  the 
bedside.  The  pale  woman  lay  quiet  for  a  little  time.  At  length, 
when  Peace  was  calmer,  she  spoke. 

"  Peace,  I've  got  something  to  say  to  you,  and  p'raps  I'd  best 
now.  Go,  dear,  and  bring  me  my  bead  bag  from  the  upper 
drawer :  you'll  find  the  key  in  a  wine-glass  in  the  cupboard. 
Reuben,  fix  the  pillows  a  little."  And  she  sat  up  in  bed,  -very 
pale. 

The  work-bag  was  brought,  and  her  fingers  trembled  in  loosen- 
ing the  strings. 

"  Child,  it's  all  yours :  I've  been  savin'  it  up  for  you,"  she  said, 
as  she  took  out  a  roll  of  bank-bills,  and  a  little  bag  of  coin  fell 
out  on  the  coverlet.  "  I  thought  all  along,  while  I've  been 
savin'  this  —  " 

"  O,  Aunt  Patience  !  I  don't  want  anything,  if  you've  got  to 
die  and  leave  me  !  "  sobbed  the  child,  hiding  her  face  on  Reu- 
ben's shoulder. 

The  sick  woman  sighed,  and  fondly  passed  her  shrivelled  hand 
over  the  weeper's  curls. 

"  Don't,  don't,  darlin' !  "  she  said  faintly.  "  I  must  talk  with 
you  now.  Everybody's  got  to  die.  The  longest  life  is  but  a 
span,  the  Bible  says ;  and  it's .  true.  It  don't  seem  but  a  little 
while  since  I  was  young  as  you  :  I  warn't  but  five  year  older, 
when  my  mother  died.  Sixty  years  don't  seem  so  very  long, 
after  all ;  but  yet  I've  lived  longer  than  a  good  many  do  —  sixty- 


80  TEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.^ 

two  years!  But  Peace,  what  I  wanted  to  tell  you  is  tSis : 
After  I'n>  gone,  it'll  be  lonesome  for  you  ;  and  if  Reuben  gets 
somebody  to  take  care  o'  things,  —  a  housekeeper,  to  fill  vmy 
place,"  —  and  here  the  old  lady's  voice  broke  down,  —  "  if  it 
should  happen  so,  by  and  by  maybe,  he'll  be  willin'  to  part  with 
you  a  little  while  ;  and  then  you  can  go  away  to  school." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  go  to  school!*  I  wont  leave  Uncle 
Reuben  !  "  and  Peace  sobbed  afresh.  "  I  never'll  go  away  and 
leave  him ! " 

"Hush,  darlin' !  You  needn't  go  away  unless  Reuben's  will- 
ing, and  you  want  to  ;  but  you  wont  always  be  a  little  girl,  and, 
when  you  grow  up,  I  want  you  to  know  more'n  poor  old  Aunt 
Patience  ever  did.  People  thought  more  o'  work  than  books 
when  I  was  young ;  but  I  want  you  te  have  a  good  eddication. 
Sometime,  maybe,  you'll  get  tired  o'  stayin'  at  home  ;  and  then, 
if  you  have  book  larnin',  you  can  go  away  and  keep  school,  or 
do  something  else.  Young  folks  likes  to  be  independent,  and 
airn  something  for  themselves,  even  if  there's  no  need  on't ;  and 
so,  thinks  I  long  ago,  even  though  we  shall  always  treat  you  as 
our  own  child,  and  some  day  the  property'll  go  to  you,  yet  p'raps 
you'd  see  it  in  the  same  light.  So  you  see  that's  what  I  saved 
up  this  for.  Farmin'  folks  don't  often  have  ready  money  by 
'em ;  but  when  we  got  the  place  paid  up  for,  —  Reuben  and  I 
—  I  kept  on  spinnin'  and  weavin'  'cause  I  got  in  the  way  on't, 
and  laid  by  my  airnin's,  for  I'd  no  use  for  'em  myself.  Poor 
little  lame  Katy !  she  was  dead ;  and  I  don't  know  as  I  should 
a  had  heart  to  work,  or  anythin',  but,  somehow,  it  seemed  to  me 
then  that  the  Lord  would  fill  her  place.  And  He  did  :  He  sent 
you ;  and  then  I  felt  as  if  I'd  got  somebody  to  live  and  work  for. 
And  I  believe  it  was  the  best  way,  too.  The  Lord  puts  every- 
body on  the  airth  to  be  busy.  —  some  one  thing,  and  some  an- 
other ;  some  to  get  married,  and  have  happy  families  grow  up 


PEACE  :   OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  81 

• 

about  'em,  and  some  to  live  lonely,  desolate  lives,"  —  and  in  that 
moment  the  pale  old  lady  thought  of  the  desolation  of  her  own 
loveless  years,  —  "  but,  after  all,  His  way  is  best.  Maybe,  if  I'd 
had  a  house  and  home  and  chiPlen  of  my  own,  I  should  a  forgot 
my  duty  to  you,  brother,  and  to  poor  lame  Katy.  I've  tried 
hard  to  be  a  good  sister  to  you,  and  p'raps  I  haven't  wholly 
failed  —  have  I,  Reuben  ?  The  best  fall  short  sometimes.  I  know 
you'll  miss  me ;  and  you  wont  forget  me ! "  she  added  with 
glistening  eyes.  "  But  there  !  I  wont  dwell  on  that.  I  want  to 
talk  about  Peace.  By  and  by  she'll  get  beyond  the  district 
school ;  and  then  she'd  better  go  over  to  Nortlifield  to  the  Semi- 
nary. That's  what  I  saved  this  for.  Here,  Reuben,  take  it, 
and  lay  it  away  for  that.  There's  jest  three  hundred  dollars,  — 
all  aimed  with  my  own  hands,  at  the  wheel  and  the  loom,  and 
in  the  dairy ;  and  it  must  eddicate  Peace.  I  hope  you'll  be  a 
good  child  to  Reuben,  dear !  You'll  be  all  he  has  to  comfort 
him ;  you  always  was  a  comfort ;  and  then  you're  the  picture  of 
your  mother !  —  poor  Mary ! "  —  but  here  she  suddenly  checked 
herself. 

Those  two  words,  "Your  mother,"  and  the  connection  in  which 
Aunt  Patience  had  spoken  them,  thrilled  Peace's  heart,  fired  the 
train  of  imagination,  and  a  new  thought  flashed  like  lightning 
on  her  brain.  The  story  of  her  birth,  so  far  as  the  fact  that  her 
mother,  dying,  had  bequeathed  her  to  her  kind  protectors'  care, 
had  never  been  withheld  from  her ;  for  Patience  and  Reuben 
had  wisely  decided  not  to  bring  her  up  in  entire  ignorance  of  it ; 
but  there  were  passages  in  Mary  Halpine's  life  which  had  never 
been  imparted  to  her  child.  Yet  many  a  tune  had  she  won- 
dered why,  when  looking  upon  the  miniature  and  asking  if  her 
mother  were  indeed  beautiful  as  the  face  pictured  there,  Uncle 
Reuben's  .eyes  suddenly  filled  with  tears,  or,  when  she  spoke  of 
her  father,  Aunt  Patience  maintained  silence  or  skilfully  evaded 


82         PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

direct  replies.  But  now,  in  those  spoken  words  from  the  sick 
woman's  lips,  and  glancing  up  suddenly  to  see  a  quick,  sharp 
pang  shiver  Reuben's  frame,  that  lightning  flash  of  intelligence 
irradiated  the  obscurity.  She  crept  close  to  his  side,  wound  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  and  whispered,  "My  mother!  Did  she 
do  anything  ?  What  was  she  to  you,  Uncle  Reuben  ?  " 

The  man's  arms  tightened  about  the  girl,  and  he  bowed  his 
head  on  her  sunny  curls.  In  a  choking  voice,  he  whispered, 
"  Not  much,  Peace  ;  only  I  loved  her  more  than  you  can  think, 
and  she  promised  —  she  promised  "  —  but  he  could  not  go  on. 

With  the  quick  instinct  of  dawning-  womanhood,  Peace  under- 
stood it  all.  "  And  did  she  do  wrong  ?  did  she  forget  you  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  She  left  me  for  another.  It  was  one  week,  only,  before  she 
was  to  have  been  my  wife.  He  who  made  her  forget  her  prom- 
ises was  your  father." 

"  Uncle  Reuben,  I  know  now  why  you  never  have  spoken  to 
me  of  him !  Was  he  a  good  man,  or  was  he  wicked  ?  Tell 
me  !  I  will  know !  "  and  Peace  grasped  his  hands  beseechingly. 

"  Peace,"  'said  Reuben,  slowly,  "  because  he  was  your  father, 
I  have  never  spoken  ill  of  him  ;  but  I  am  afraid  he  was  an  evil 
man.  But  let  us  not  talk  of  it  now,  my  child." 

"  But  I  must !  dear,  good  uncle,  let  me,  please  !  You  don't 
know  how  I've  thought  about  it,  and  wanted  to  ask  you,  but 
never  dared.  But  tell  me  all  now.  Was  he  wicked  and  cruel 
to  my  mother  ?  And  why  did  she  come  here  to  die  ?  " 

With  flushed  cheek  Peace  threw  back  the  curls  from  her 
tear-stained  face,  and  stood  before  him,  awaiting  an  answer. 
Reuben  drew  her  head  caressingly  to  his  breast. 

"  My  child,  I  never  meant  you  should  know  this.  It  was  not 
your  mother's  fault,  I  suppose,  if  she  loved  another  better  than 
me.  Had  she  asked  me,  I  would  have. freed  her;  but  the  stroke 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  83 

was  sudden,  and  hard  to  bear.  And  then,  when  she  came  back 
to  die  alone  —  " 

"  But  where  was  my  father  then  1  You  do  not  tell  me !  Was 
he"  dead  ?  He  didn't  let  her  come  back  to  die  all  alone,  uncle  ?  " 
and  Peace  burst  into  tears,  and  sank  into  Reuben's  arms. 

"  Peace,  he  was  not  dead.  He  sent  your  mother  away  from 
him.  He  was  very  wicked." 

"  And  now  ?  "  The  girl  stood  upright,  her  young  face  very 
pale.  "  He  is  dead  now  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know ;  we  never  heard  so,"  replied  Reuben. 

"Oh,  I  wish  you  had  said  he  was  dead  !,"  sobbed  Peace,  pas- 
sionately. "  I  do  !  I  do  !  I'd  rather  you'd  said  that !  I  always 
thought  that !  I  didn't  know  my  father  had  forgotten  me  all  my 
life  —  thirteen  years  !  Uncle  Reuben,  wont  he  come  some  day 
here  ?  Do  you  think  he  meant  my  beautiful  mother  to  come 
here  and  die  ?  Wont  he  come  after  me  ?  " 

"No,^no,  my  child,"  replied  Reuben  Wedgewood,  for  he  knew 
what  that  pure,  innocent  child  could  not  know,  —  how  the  gayj 
dissolute  man  of  the  world  never  seeks  again  the  flowers  his  foot 
has  crushed  in  his  pathway,  —  "I  fear  not,  Peace.  Perhaps 
he  did  not  know  whither  Mary  came.  I  don't  think  he  did. 
She  had  wandered  far  before  she  sought  us." 

"  Then,  if  he  will  not  come  to  me,  I  must  go  to  him  !  " 

There  was  the  wildest  excitement  in  the  young  girl's  manner. 
Her  lips  and  cheeks  blazed  with  crimson ;  her  eyes  looked 
darkly  brilliant ;  her  feet  had  gained  the  door. 

Reuben  stretched  forth  his  arms.  "  Peace,  Peace,  where  are 
you  going  ?  Where  would  you  find  this  man  ?  For  thirteen 
years  you  have  been  our  child,  and  he  has  never  come  to  claim 
you.  If  living,  he  will  never  come  ;  if  dead,  he  cannot.  Come 
back !  Do  you  want  to  leave  us  ?  Will  you  go  away  and  leave 
Patience  now  ?  " 


84         PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

* 

Peace  b*urst  into  tears  —  a  wild,  passionate  fit  of  weeping. 
She  went  back  and  kissed  Reuben;  then  crept  upon  the  bed 
and  laid  her  flushed  cheek  softly  against  the  pale,  withered  one 
on  the  pillow. 

"Forgive  me,  please,  Aunt  Patience.  I  wouldn't  go  away 
from  you  for  worlds  and  worlds.  But  it  does  seem  so  hard  to 
think  that  my  own  father  may  be  somewhere,  —  perhaps  not 
very  far  off,  —  and  he  will  not  come  to  see  his  child !  Oh,  if  he 
'would  come,  I  know  he  would  love  me,  and  let  me  make  him 
good !  I  would  ask  him  all,  all  about  my  beautiful  mother. 
Aunty,  how  old  was  my  mother  when  she  died  ?  " 

"  Twenty-three,"  whispered  Patience. 

"  Ten  years  older  than  I.  It  was  not  so  very  old,  was  it, 
aunty?" 

"  No  !  young  enough  !  —  too  young  to  die  so  !  But  it  was 
God's  will,  darlin' !  There  !  don't  talk  any  more  now :  you  will 
get  sick.  P'raps  you'd  better  go  out :  I  guess  I  could  sleep  a 
little." 

Peace  laid  her  arm  over  Aunt  Patience's  neck  a  moment, 
kissed  her,  then  rose. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  worry  you,  aunty ;  I  am  sorry."  Then, 
drawing  the  curtain  closer  over  the  west  window,  smoothing  the 
pillows  arid  nicely  adjusting  the  coverlet,  she  'stood  a  moment  at 
the  bedside. 

"  That's  a  dear  !  There  !  let  me  kiss  you  once.  •  Now  go  out 
with  Reuben  into  the  kitchen.  Leave  the  door  ajar :  I'll  speak 
when  I  wake  up.  You've  got  the  money,  Reuben  ?  " 

"Yes,  Patience." 

"  Well,  put  it  by  for  Peace.  Go  now,  brother :  I  shall  go  to 
sleep." 

Mr.  "Wedgewood  and  Peace  went  out  from  the  darkened  room 
together,  —  the  one  to  sit  oh  the  threshold  of  the  open  door  in 


PEACE  :    OB   THE    STOLEN    WILL.  85 

the  soft  falling  twilight,  endeavoring  to  nerve  his  saddened  heart 
for  the  trial  he  knew  was  fast  approaching  —  the  separation  from 
his  faithful  sister ;  and  the  other,  in  her  little  chamber,  to  look 
with  tearful  eyes  on  the  little  golden  locket  whence  smiled  into 
her  own  her  mother's  eyes,  —  and,  alas  that  their  gaze  had  been 
the  reflex  of  a  treacherous  heart  —  her  father's  ! 

And  so  two  hours  went  by;  —  the  sun  went  down  behind 
the  western  hills,  clouds  of  gold,  crimson  and  amber  skirting 
his  path  ;  the  skies  darkened  with  thick  twilight  shadows  ;  then 
the  new  moon  hung  her  silver  crescent  aloft  over  the  forests,  and 
one  bright  star  came  out  to  keep  watch  above  the  graves  on 
Wood  Hill  whither  Reuben's  eye  turned  oft  in  the  gloaming. 
And  then  was  heard  Chip's  cheerful  chirrup  and  whistle  as  he 
came  late  from  the  pasture  with  the  cows ;  and  old  Hannah 
Ward,  Reuben's  cousin  and  nearest  relative  who  had  been  hired 
at  the  farm-house  during  Patience's  illness,  came  up  from  the 
milking  with  foaming  pails  and  went  through  the  long  kitchen 
with  heavy  steps,  then  carried  the  milk  pans  down  into  the  cellar 
dairy ;  Cliip  lounged  about  the  yard,  now  sitting  a  few  moments 
perched  on  the  topmost  rail  of  the  barnyard  fence,  or  stroking 
the  head  of  the  black  cow,  with  whom,  latterly,  he  had  been  on  the 
best  terms,  inasmuch  as  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  breachy 
propensities,  and  who  now  stood  quietly  chewing  her  cud  and 
rubbing  her  neck  against  the  bars  ;  by  and  by  a  whip-poor-will 
struck  up  his  plaintive  lonely  cry  in  the  grove  behind  the  house, 
then  the  hoarse  croaking  of  frogs  came  up  from  the  marshes ;  a 
toad  hopped  out  from  among  the  rose-bushes  by  the  door  and  sat 
down,  blinking  its  eyes  with  a  lazy  and  very  much-at-home  air, 
close  to  Reuben's  foot  on  the  flat  door-step ;  then  the  old  gray 
cat  crept  along  with  a  purr,  quite  unmindful  of  Bruno  who  lay 
with  shaggy  head  between  his  forepaws  across  the  threshold  ; 
the  scent  of  sweet  peas,  southern  wood,  and  mint,  came  from  the 

8 


86  PEACE  :    OB   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

garden  ;  and  a  low,  deep,  drowsy  murmur,  like  the  voice  of  the 
distant  sea,  mingled  with  the  sighing  breath  of  the  tall  poplars 
above  the  roof,  swaying  Reuben's  thoughts  to  a  dreamy  repose. 

And  later,  when  the  night  had  fairly  settled  down,  the  moon 
stood  larger  and  higher  above  the  trees,  and  the  star  over  Wood 
Hill  was  not  alone  in  its  tender  vigil ;  when  no  sound  was  heard 
within  the  farm-house  but  the  steady  tick,  tick,  of  the  old  clock, 
and  the  tramp,  tramp,  of  Hannah  Ward's  thick  shoes  as  she 
went  to  and  fro  about  her  work  —  then  Reuben  arose  and  went 
in,  meeting  little  Peace  just  coming  from  the  bedroom. 

"  How  long  Aunt  Patience  sleeps  !  "  she  said,  following  him 
in  again,  and  looping  aside  the  curtain  from  the  window. 

A  slant  ray  of  moonlight  fell  on  one  hand  which  lay,  white 
and  listless,  down  the  bedside.  Reuben  lifted  it :  it  was  cold  as 
ice  !  —  Then  another  and  brighter  ray  fell  athwart  her  face  —  a 
face,  so  white,  so  rigid  in  its  repose,  that  the  brother  knew,  ere 
he  bent  his  lips  to  the  sleeper's  icy  breathless  ones,  that  One  had 
been  there  before  him  —  chilling  that  wrinkled  forehead,  sealing 
those  aged  eyes,  sharpening  every  pale  feature  with  his  stern 
finger  —  even  Azrael,  the  angel  of  Death  ! 

Yes,  Patience  Wedgewood  was  dead  !  Silently  and  sweetly, 
as  an  infant  lapses  into  slumberj  had  she  yielded  her  breath ; 
and  though  every  other  feature  wore  the  rigid  impress  of  the 
death-seal,  yet  about  her  lips  —  even  while  that  lonely  saddened 
man  stood  mute  beside  her  —  seemed  to  grow  a  soft,  tender, 
youthful  smile  —  that  faint,  undefipable,  but  beautiful  smile 
which  is  often  seen  hovering  on  the  faces  of  the  dead !  And 
then  Reuben  knew  that  the  angel  who  led  forth  her  spirit  from 
its  earth-worn  tenement,  in  passing  the  gates  of  the  Celestial 
City,  had  held  to  her  lips  the  cup  t>f  Eternal  Youth. 

Thank  God,  there  are  no  wrinkled  brows,  gray  hairs,  dimmed 
eyes,  palsied  feet,  broken  vows,  desolate  hearts,  in  heaven  ! 


CHAPTER    X. 

Childe  Harold  was  he  hight:  —  bat  whence  his  name 
And  lineage  long,  it  suits  me  not  to  say. 

BYBOH. 

"JASPER,  two  gentlemen  down  in  the  parlor  to  see  you; 
met  'em  coming  up  the  walk,"  said  Philip  Reade,  entering  his 
room  at  "  Talbot  Hall "  one  fine  summer  afternoon  where  his 
chum  sat  with  his  feet  on  the  table  and  chair  tipped  back 
against  the  wall,  deep  in  the  mysteries  of  Sophocles'  Greek 
Grammar. 

The  student  addressed  —  a  handsome,  manly  looking  lad  of 
some  sixteen  years  —  tossed  down  his  book,  sprang  to  his  feet, 
flung  his  dressing-gown  upon  the  bed  and  drew  on  a  neat  fitting 
sack  of  blue  cassimere,  took  a  hasty  survey  of  his  person  in  the 
glass  —  smoothing  down  his  Byronical  collar  and  running  his 
fingers  through  the  thick  brown  curls  clustering  over  his  damp 
white  forehead,  then  left  the  room. 

"  "Wonder  who  the  dickens  they  are  ?  "  he  murmured,  skipping 
down  the  staircase. 

Upon  entering  the  boarding-house  parlor,  he  saw  the  profile 
face  of  a  handsome  middle-aged  stranger  standing  at  a  distant 
window  apparently  surveying  the  grounds  without ;  and  a  tall, 
dark-eyed  man,  rising  from  a  seat  near  the  door,  advanced  with  a 
cheerful  "  How  are  you,  Jasper  ?  "  and  outstretched  hands. 

The  boy's  face  brightened  with  pleasure  and  recognition. 
"  Aha,  Mr.  Golding,  my  guardian !  what  good  fortune  brings 
you  here  ?  When  did  you  leave  New  York,  sir  ?  " 

(87) 


8S  PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

Then  while  he  wrung  the  proffered  hand,  his  eye  glanced  to 
the  stranger  who  had  started  suddenly  at  the  first  sound  of  the 
youth's  voice,  and,  as  by  some  impulse  he  could  not  restrain, 
taken  a  sudden  step  toward  him,  then  stopped  short. 

"  Ah,  that's  right,  Revere !  Come  here !  This  is  the  boy 
of  whom  you've  heard  me  speak  so  often.  A  fine  lad,  isn't  he, 
Jasper  ?  "  and  turning  to  the  youth,  a  strange  cynical  smile  passed 
unobserved  over  Hugh  Golding's  features.  "Jasper,  I  have 
told  this  gentleman  so  much  concerning  you  that  his  interest  is 
'almost  fatherly.  There,  give  your  hand  to  him.  Mr.  Revere, 
my  adopted  son,  Jasper  Golding !  " 

The  hand  that  met  the  youth's  trembled,  and  a  visible  flush 
went  over  Mr.  Revere's  cheek,  but  he  uttered  a  few  common 
place  words  of  greeting,  then  retired  to  the  window  again ; 
though  from  time  to  time  Jasper  caught  the  earnest  glance  of  his 
eyes ;  glances  which  somehow  seemed  strangely  familiar  to  him. 
For  a  moment  he  tried  to  remember  where  he  had  met  them 
before.  Confused  thoughts  whirled  through,  his  brain,  but  he 
could  not  disentangle  them ;  and  starting  from  his  reverie,  he 
repeated  his  question  to  his  guardian. 

"  When  did  you  leave  New  York,  sir  ?  " 

"  Three  days  ago,  my  friend  and  I.  Business  detained  us  in 
Boston ;  and  I  proposed  running  do*wn  to  your  quiet  classical 
town  and  giving  you  a  surprise.  But  I  didn't  expect  to  find 
such  a  tall  manly  fellow.  When  I  placed  you  here  on  going 
abroad,  you  were  a  mere  boy ;  let's  see  —  three  years  ago ! 
They've  changed  you  wonderfully :  three  more  will  make  a 
man  of  you,  if  you  keep  on  growing  at  this  rate.  Revere," 
turning  suddenly  to  the  man  at  the  window  with  a  look  of  intel- 
ligence. 

"  You've  got  a  son  about  this  young  gentleman's  age  I  Re- 
sembles him  somewhat,  don't  he  ?  " 


PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  89 

Mr.  Eevere's  face  paled,  and  an  almost  imploring  look  gleam- 
ed from  his  eyes.  Then  he  answered  in  a  firm  low  voice,  "  Yes 
Golding,  my  son  is  like  him  —  very  like  him !  " 

Golding  turned  back"  carelessly  and  continued  his  conversa- 
tion with  Jasper,  who  said  in  reply  to  Mr.  Revere's  remark, 
"  Here,  they  take  me  to-  be  older  than  sixteen,"  —  and  indeed, 
with  his  tall,  well-knitted  form,  open  manly  face,  expansive  fore- 
head where  intellect  had  placed  its  seal,  and  frank  manliness  of 
deportment,  the  youth  seemed  full  two  years  older. 

"  Well,  and  what's  your  next  move,  Jasper  ?  About  through 
here,  aren't  you  ?  I  think  your  last  letter  came  to  me  in  Paris ; 
said  your  course  was  finished  this  year  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir,  this  term  closes  it.  I  can  remain  another  year  and 
enter  College  Sophomore,  or  leave  now  with  the  Senior  Class. 
I  think  I'd  rather  go  with  the  class,  though :  a  dozen  of  the  boys 
will  enter  Freshys.  Had'nt  I  better  go  up  to  Harvard  when 
the  term's  up ;  that's  in  six  weeks  more;  and  get  admitted?  I'm 
ambitious  to  get  on,  sir !  " 

"  Yes,  certainly  !  if  you  think  you'll  pass  examination,  go  by 
all  means ;  for  you  must  be  tired  of  this  moping  country  town. 
Devilish  dull  —  ain't  it  ?  You'll  see  life  at  Cambridge,  —  plenty 
of  city  amusements  close  by,  to  drive  away  the  blues.  Hang  it ! 
I  don't  believe  in  this  monastic  seclusion.  You're  old  enough 
now  to  begin  to  see  the  world,  my  boy !  Is'nt  that  your  opinion. 
Revere  ?  "  carelessly  appealing  to  his  companion. 

"  Certainly ;  you  know  I  always  coincide  with  you,"  replied 
Revere  with  a  short  nervous.laugh.  "  Let  the  lad  see  life,  by 
all  means.  College  life,  in  the  tempting  vicinity  of  a  city,  is  a 
good  school  for  youth." 

Jasper  looked  at  the  speaker,  doubting  whether  the  latter 
words  were  uttered  in  good  faith  or  with  a  covert  sneer ;  but  he 
read  nothing  on  his  impassive  face. 

8* 


90  PEACE  :    OE   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

"  Let  me  see  your  term  bills,"  said  Golding.  "  I  have  re- 
ceived none  for  the  last  year." 

"  They  were  not  forwarded.  I  will  get  them  in  a  moment," 
and  leaving  the  parlor,  Jasper  lightly  ran  up  to  his  room. 

"  Good ! "  he  cried  to  his  chum.  "  Mr.  Golding  —  that's  my 
guardian,  down  stairs  —  has  consented.  I  shall  go  to  Cambridge 
with  the  rest  of  the  boys.  Wants  to  see  my  term  bills.  Where 
the  deuce  are  the  credentials  ?  Botheration !  a  fellow  never  can 
find  anything  when  he's  in  a  hurry  ! "  and  he  rummaged  in  the 
depths  of  a  trunk.  "  Ah,  I  have  'em ! "  and  taking  them  from 
the  leaves  of  a  portfolio,  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Here,  stop  a  moment,  Jasp !  Put  in  a  word,  will  you, 
about  going  home  with  me  this  vacation  ?  We'll  have  such  capi- 
tal times  !  Louis  Rowland  —  he's  my  cousin,  and  a  Soph,  at 
Harvard  —  lives  in  New  York  —  he's  coming  to  spend  a  month 
with  brother  Fred.  Cousin  Qrah,  too,  she's  a  splendid  girl,  I 
tell  you,  Jasp !  full  of  fun  and  spirit  —  she'll  be  out  of  boarding- 
school  then  —  and  always  spends  her  summer  vacations  at  our 
farm.  Such  gunning,  riding,  fishing,  picnics  !  Don't  forget  it, 
Jasper !  But  look  here !  which  of  those  gentlemen  is  your 
guardian  ?  The  shorter  one,  I  take  it  —  he's  your  uncle,  per- 
haps ?  you  look  like  him  —  I  noticed  that,  when  he  came  up  the 
walk.  You've  got  his  hair  and  eyes  ! " 

"  No,  Phil.,"  replied  Jasper  pausing  with  his  hand  on  the  door 
knob.  "  You're  mistaken.  I  hav'nt  a  relative  in  the  world  that 
I  know  of.  This  gentleman  was  a  stranger  to  me  until  to-day, 
when  he  accompanied  by  guardian*  here.  Mr.  Golding  is  the 
other  one  —  black  eyes  and  hair  —  foreign  looking — just  re- 
turned from  Europe.  He  adopted  me  in  my  infancy,  taking  me 
from  the  deck  of  a  burning  steamer  where  my  parents  were  both 
lost  But  to  tell'  the  truth  it  struck  me  at  first,  that,  somewhere, 
I'd  seen  this  Mr.  Revere." 


PEACE:    OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  91 

"  Mr.  Revere  ?  "  echoed  Philip  Reade.  "  From  New  York 
city?"  . 

"Yes." 

"  I've  seen  him  there  then,  —  when  I  was  at  Uncle  Rowland's. 
He's  of  the  firm  of  '  Revere,  Stone  and  Co.,  Importers,'  —  one 
of  the  wealthiest  merchants  of  New  York.  I  knew  his  face 
was  familiar  —  still,  I  think  you  look  like  him.  Perhaps  you've 
seen  him  in  New  York,  too  ?  " 

"No,  I  never  was  there,"  replied  Jasper.  "Mr.  Golding's 
business  takes  him  to  other  cities  a  great  deal,  and  I  was  brought 
up  at  a  select  boys'  school  in  Connecticut  before  I  came  here, 
always  boarding  in  the  tutor's  family.  Mr.  Golding  came  to  see 
me  there  every  year  —  till  I  was  placed  here,  and  he  went  to 
Europe.  It  must  have  been  a  fancy,  that  I'd  seen  Mr.  Revere 
before  to-day.  But  I  must  go  down." 

Meantime,  a  little  episode  had  passed  between  the  two  gen- 
tlemen in  the  parlor. 

"  Good  God,  Golding !  "  exclaimed  Augustus  Revere  rapidly 
and  passionately,  pacing  the  floor  excitedly  as  the  youth's  foot- 
steps died  along  the  hall,  —  "  How  could  you  be  so  cool  ?  I 
have  had  a  hard  battle  of  it.  I  shall  betray  myself ! " 

"  And  risk  all ! "  sneered  Golding  keenly  watching  him. 
"  Will  you  undo  the  work  of  sixteen  years  ?  Don't  be  a  fool, 
Revere  !  I  foresaw  that  something  of  this  kind  would  occur 
when  you  insisted  upon  accompanying  me  here.  —  And  yet, 
why  should  I  try  to  prevent  it  ?  After  all,  what  is  it  to  me,  if  a 
man  chooses  to  ruin  himself  ?  I  have  served  your  interests 
faithfully  for  sixteen  years  —  you  can  set  me  aside  now,  if  you 
choose." 

"  Served  my  interests  ?  —  Aye,  so  you  have  !  but  at  my  ex- 
pense, too,"  muttered  Mr.  Revere  bitterly,  turning  away  and 
pacing  the  floor  in  agitation.  "  A  disinterested  friend,  forsooth ! " 


92  PEACE  :     OB    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

"  Yes,  you  can  acknowledge  the  boy  !  No  doubt  Mrs.  Revere 
would  be  glad  to  welcome  him  home.  It  will  be  a  pleasant 
surprise  to  her !  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  affair,"  said 
Golding  sneeringiy. 

Revere  bit  his  lip.  "  You  are  pleased  to  be  sarcastic,  Hugh. 
I  am  fully  sensible  that  prudence,  interest,  everything,  demand 
silence  on  my  part ;  but  I  tell  you  I  did  not  imagine  the  sight 
of  that  boy  would  affect  me  so.  So  much  like  her,  too !  Let 
us  get  away  from  here,  for  God's  sake,  or  I  shall  go  mad  !  " 

"  Certainly,  I  will  not  detain  you  long.  It  is  best  we  should 
go.  Hush !  —  here  he  comes.  Be  careful !  I  saw  him  eye 
you  sharply." 

Jasper  entered  with  the  desired  papers  —  bills  of  his  schol- 
arship and  standing  for  the  previous  year  at  the  Academy. 
"  Good !  "  exclaimed  Golding,  nodding  his  head  approvingly  as 
he  glanced  them  over.  "  Greek  —  Latin  —  Declamation  — 
highest  marks,  I  see.  This  speaks  of  application  and  talent. 
Well,  you'd  better  go  up  to  Harvard.  And  now,  what's  to  be 
done  with  you  this  long  summer  vacation  ?  Unfortunately, 
business  calls  me  to  Cincinnati  and  western  cities  for  three 
months  to  come,  so  I  cannot  take  you  to  New  York  as -I  had 
anticipated.  It's  rather  a  hard  case,  Revere,"  turning  where  he 
stood  pale  and  listless  by  the  window  —  "-Here  am  I,  with  this 
fine  fellow  on  my  hands,"  familiarly  patting  Jasper  on  his  shoul- 
der, "and  neither  house  or  home  to  take  him  to.  Faith,  I 
oughtn't  to  have  been  a  bachelor !  I've  half  a  mind  to  get  a 
wife,  if  for  no  other  purpose  than  for  the  sake  of  having  a  home 
to  invite  him  to.  It's  too  bad,  Jasper!  —  You  wont  want  to 
stay  here  to  get  the  blues  in  this  dull  country  town ;  nor  will 
you  care  to  go  back  to  your  quondam  tutor's  —  will  you,  my 
boy  ?  " 

Jasper  smiled.  Here  was  the  very  opening  he  sought.  He 
said  quickly  — 


PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  93 

"  Capital !  It  couldn't  have  happened  more  opportunely  — 
your  journey,  I  mean,  sir  —  for  you  see  Phil.  Reade  has  been 
teasing  me  to  go  home  with  him  into  the  interior  of  Massachu- 
setts. He's  planning  all  sorts  of  excursions  —  boating,  gunning, 
riding.  It  is  dull  enough  here  vacations,  after  all  the  boys  are 
gone.  I  should  like  to  go  with  Phil.,  sir ! " 

"  Well,  I  must  confess  to  being  greatly  obliged  to  your  good 
friend  Phil.,"  replied  Golding.  —  "  Yes,  accept  his  invitation  by 
all  means.  Enjoy  your  vacation  in  any  way  you  please.  Is 
your  friend  well  off  ?  If  not,  mind  and  foot  the  bills,"  drawing 
forth  his  pocket-book.  "  I  can  afford  to  spare  you  a  trifle,  having 
lately  been  extra  fortunate  in  some  business  transactions,"  and 
he  handed  Jasper  a  roll  of  bills  —  "  and  now,  I  suppose,*  as 
you're  determined  to  become  a  collegian,  I  must  rise  on  your 
quarterly  remittances,  hey  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Jasper  placing  the  bills  in  his  porte- 
monnaie,  "  if  the  boys  of  the  Senior  Class  don't  have  a  jollifica- 
tion at  my  expense  the  last  night  .of  the  term,  then  may  I  never 
see  the  classic  halls- of  old  Harvard  —  that's  all!  As  for  my 
remittances,  of  course  I  shouldn't  object  to  their  being  increased, 
as  my  dignity  —  ahem  !  "  —  and  he  pulled  up  his  Byronical 
collar  with  an  assumption  of  manhood  —  "  will  need  sustaining. 
And  then,  they  play  off  such  tricks  on  the  Freshys  at  college, 
too !  I  shall  want  to  treat  'em  all  to  the  best  old  Havanas,  when 
they  come  to  my  room  to  smoke  me  out.  A  few  more  X's  wont 
go  amiss,  sir  !  " 

"No,  I  should  suppose  not,"  replied  the  guardian  with  a 
laugh.  "  Revere,  don't  your  old  college  days  come  up  before 
you  ?  But  there  goes  your  bell,  I  suppose ! "  as  a  clear  musical 
chime  rang  out  from  the  tower  of  the  Academy  close  by,  and 
the  rush  of  a  score  of  students'  feet  came  on  the  staircase 
and  through  the  halls.  "  We  leave  town  by  the  evening  train 


94  PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

for  Boston.  Run  over  to  the  Hotel  —  which,  by  the  way,  is  a 
fine  one  for  a  country  town  —  after  your  recitations.  Now 
good  afternoon !  " 

"  Good  afternoon,"  replied  Jasper  as  he  attended  the  two  to 
the  door,  and  once  again  felt  the  earnest  lingering  gaze  of  Mr. 
Revere's  eyes,  ere,  with  a  slight  inclination  of  his  head  in  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  youth's  graceful  bow  he  turned  away; 
then  running  lightly  up  the  stairs  he  caught  up  his  books,  set 
his  light  Panama  jauntily  on  his  inoist  brown  curls,  hastened 
away  to  join  his  fellow-students,  and  soon  found  himself  discuss- 
ing the  knotty  passages  of  Felton's  Greek  Reader  with  won- 
derful ease. 

Meantime  the  two  men  had  walked  silently  side  by  side  down 
the  smooth  gravelled-, walks  of  the  Academy  grounds,  then  bent 
their  steps  up  the  principal  long,  cool,  elm-shaded  street  of  the 
village.  At  length  Golding  uttered  a  long  low  laugh,  evidently 
in  the  best  humor  with  himself  and  his  companion. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Don't  you  think  nature  intended  me  for  the 
boards  ?  Capital  actor,  ain't  I  ?  How  did  you  think  my  fa- 
therly relations  became  me  ?  Spent  your  money  like  a  prince, 
—  didn't  I,  Revere  ?  " 

A  bitter  smile  shot  across  Revere's  lips.  "  Golding,  I've  been 
a  fool.  For  heaven's  sake,  don't  taunt  me  with  it !  Keep  your 
peace,  will  you  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  Golding  angrily.  "Eternally  harping  me  on 
the  old  string  !  You  are  a  fool,  Revere  !  And  I,  too,  am  one, 
that  I  do  not  leave  you  to  your  folly.  Why  should  I  trouble 
myself  further  about  your  affairs  ?  You  do  not  thank  me'  for 
what  I  have  done.  Was  it  my  work  in  the  first  place  ?  Au- 
gustus Revere,  who  came  to  me,  little  upwards  of  twelve  years 
ago,  and  said,  '  Receive  this  boy  into  your  care  —  make  yourself 
his  guardian,  give  him  your  name,  invent  a  story  of  his  birth 


PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL.  95 

—  while  from  a  distance  I  watch  over  him '  ?  I  took  the  boy : 
but  I  did  not  know  then,  that,  to  break  the  heart  and  remove 
from  your  path  her  who  stood  in  your  way  to  the  beautiful  heir- 
ess, you  did  this  !  When  your  scheme  prospered,  then  I  saw  it ; 
and  then,  indeed,  I  might  have  thwarted  you  ;  but  at  that  time, 
as  you  doubtless  remember,  my  necessity  was  your  opportunity ; 
besides,  on  neither  of  us  did  our  morals  sit  any  too  heavily,  so 
I  let  you  go  on.  Now,  after  the  lapse  of  these  twelve  years, 
during  the  half  of  which  you 'have  not  been  nigh  my  charge, 
you  suddenly  visit  him  and  are  fired  with  a  desire  to  acknowl- 
edge him.  Are  you  mad,  that  you  do  not  see  how  the  risk  is 
great  as  ever  ?  Walk  into  Julie  Revere's  presence  and  intro- 
duce this  youth  as  your  son,  and  what  think  you  the  very  pleas- 
ant result  would  be  ?  Not  a  coveted  one  I  imagine,  to  one 
who  finds  his  losses  and  '  debts  of  honor '  at  Delmonte's  too 
heavy  to  be  met  by  frequent  drafts  on  the  firm  of  "  Revere, 
Stone  and  Co.,"  and  perforce  is  glad  to  avail  himself  of  the 
proofs  of  his  wife's  affection  —  in  the  shape  of  the  revenues  of 
her  cotton  plantations !  I  tell  you,  my  dear  fellow,  that  I  know 
Julie  well  enough  to  affirm  that,  should  this  little  affair  of  the 
boy's  paternity  come  to  light,  her  love  would  not  outlive  her 
anger.  With  your  present  involvements,  can  you  brave  that  ? 
Do  as  you  please  now :  I  have  only  set  the  plain  facts  before 
you."  « 

"  Good  God !  "  exclaimed  the  man  who  could  but  see  the 
truth  of  these  words,  — "  you  are  right,  Hugh.  I  see  that 
plainly  as  you  do :  but  there  is  another  plan  —  I  can  reveal 
myself  to  my  boy.  Believe  me  or  not,  I  tell  you  he  was  always 
dear  to  me.  His  mother,  Mary  —  but  I  will  not  talk  of  her 
now !  "  and  he  laughed  a  hollow  quick  laugh  —  "I  was  a  cursed 
villain :  but  I  swear  to  you  that  it  was  not  to  break  hef  heart. 
The  boy  was  mine.  I  meant  to  save  him  for  myself —  some  day 


96  PEACE  :    OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

I  would  own  him.  Of  course  I  was  a  villain,  but  I  will  repair 
the  error  in  a  measure  now.  Let  me  go  to  him !  I  tell  you 
my  heart  yearns  for  that  boy  as  it  does  for  no  other  being  on 
earth ;  and,  Hugh  Golding,  I  would  give  every  dollar  I  ever 
won  or  lost  at  Delmonte's  were  they  now  in  my  possession,  to 
hear  him  call  me  father." 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence  between  the  two. 
Golding  walked  on,  apparently  careless,  idly  striking  his  cane 
against  the  wayside  hedge  —  but  inwardly  revolving  thought 
after  thought  in  his  mind. 

Then  his  resolve  was  taken.  True,  if  he  permitted  the  man 
beside  him  to  obey  the  impulses  of  his  heart  in  the  decision  just 
uttered,  he  did  not  lose  one  jot  or  tittle  of  his  hold  over  him  — 
for,  in  the  exercise  of  the  secret  he  held,  there  still  remained 
another  way  by  which  he  could  sway  him  to  his  will ;  but  of  this 
he  did  not  choose  to  avail  himself  now;  that  secret  had  been 
hoarded  for  sixteen  years,  and  it  must  be  kept  for  an  hour  of 
stronger  need. 

With  a  suddenly  assumed  grave  earnestness  of  manner,  he 
presented  to  Revere  an  argument  by  means  of  which  he  foresaw 
a  victory. 

"  Revere,  I  have  but  one  thing  more  to  urge  —  then  I  have 
done.  Go  to  Jasper  —  acknowledge  him,  if  you  like  —  but 
•how  can  you  answer  his  questionings  ?  With  what  story  can 
you  satisfy  him,  when  he  asks  you  concerning  his  mother? 
'  That  she  was  your  lawful  wife  ? '  —  he  will  ask  you  to  take 
him  home  to  her  successor !  '  That  she  was '  well,  my  dear 
fellow,  let  us  not  be  nice  about  words  now  —  '•your  MISTRESS  ?' 
I  tell  you,  and  —  I  know  the  lad,  —  he  would  turn  and  curse 
you  !  —  Now,  Revere,  if  you  say  the  word,  I  am  ready  to  ac- 
company you  to  his  presence." 

Dark,  rapid  changes  went  over  Augustus  Revere's  face.     The 


PEACE:   OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  97 

awakened  gleam  of  tenderness  was  smothered  in  his  eye ;  his 
hard,  haughty  features  repelled  the  momentary  sway  of  better 
feelings  ;  great  ice-waves  rolled  back-  with  crushing  force  on  the 
erst  melted  heart.  But  a  hollow  groan  of  despair  welled  up 
from  his  anguished  soul,  as  he  said  chokingly, 

"  Golding,  you  are  right !  For  God's  sake,  let  us  leave  this 
place  at  once.  I  could  not  bear  to  have  that  boy  hate  me !  and 
I  cannot  meet  him  again  !  " 

•-With  an  exultant  smile  about  his  lips,  Hugh  Golding  walked 
down  the  street  beside  his  victim.  His  subtle  argument  had 
not  been  presented  hi  vain.  And  when  the  student  youth  sought 
his  afternoon  visitors  at  the  hotel  after  his  recitations  were  over, 
a  hastily  pencilled  note  was  put  into  his  hand :  — 

"  Jasper,  my  dear  boy,  a  forgotten  business  appointment  calls 
us  away  in  the  afternoon  train.  I  will  write  you  from  Boston. 
Yours  in  haste,  GOLDING." 


CHAPTER   XI. 

She  grew  fairer  than  her  peers  ; 
Still  her  gentle  forehead  wears 
Holy  lights  of  infant  years. 

ALEXANDER  SMITH. 

WHO  is  she,  Leafy  ?  "  asked  Orah  Rowland  of  a  slight,  ex- 
quisitely beautiful  girl,  in  whose  room  she  sat  at  Madame  South- 
worth's  Seminary.  "  I  shall  dislike  her  —  I  know  I  shall !  " 
and  she  pouted  her  full  red  lips  petulantly,  "  if  for  no  other 
reason  than  because  she  usurps  the  place  I  meant  to  occupy  — 
as  your  room-mate.  And  yet,  the  girl  is'nt  to  blame.  It  was 
shameful  in  Madame  to*put  me  in  with  Nell  Denmore  for  whom 
I  don't  care  one  pin,  and  break  up  our  plans :  so  I  shall  regard 
this  Miss  What's-her-name  as  an  interloper,  I  know  ! " 

"  Oh,  no  indeed !  You'll  like  her,  Orah,  I  am  confident !  " 
enthusiastically  replied  Leafy  Earle,  a  lovely  girl  of  fourteen, 
with  transparent  complexion  exquisitely  traced  by  blue  veins, 
dreamy  hazel  eyes,  and  braids  of  chestnut  hair  singularly  bright 
and  burnished.  "  Oh,  I  know  you  will  like  her !  Miss  Bell 
says  she  passed  a  splendid  examination  in  mathematics,  and 
thinks  we  shall  like  Her  after  we  get  acquainted ;  'and  that  won't 
take  me  long,  you  know." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  shall.  Certainly,  I  have  a  fancy  for  good 
scholars,  and  am  happy  to  hear  that  this  new  comer  has  this  re- 
"deeming  trait.  I  do  despise  dunces,  and  wouldn't  have  one  for  a 
room-mate!  —  they  generally  manage  to  "pony "all  their  les- 
sons out  of  others.  Louis  says  his  chum  at  Harvard  u-od  to  try 
it  on  him,  but  he  pretty  soon  gave  him  French  leave.  Nell 

(98) 


PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEX    WILLL.  99 

Denmore,  thank  fortune,  is  a  capital  scholar !     But  about  this 
new  one  ?  —  What's  her  name  ?  —  Who  is  she  ?  " 

Just  then  a  slight  tap  came  on  the  door,  and  Miss  Bell  ap- 
peared with  a  slender  girl  clad  in  black.  "  Young  ladies  — 
Miss  Rowland  and  Miss  Earle,"  said  the  teacher  ;  "  this  is  Miss 
Wedgewood.  Miss  Leafy,  I  trust  you  will  make  your  room- 
mate quite  at  home ; "  then  turning  to  the  girl  who  stood  near 
the  door  with  cheeks  slightly  flushed,  "My  dear,  the  porter 
will  bring  up  your  luggage.  Our  dinner  hour  is  one.  Miss 
Earle  will  accompany  you  to  the  Seminary  this  afternoon. 
.Good  morning ! " 

For  the  first  time,  Peace  was  alone  among  strangers.  A  feel- 
ing of  desolation  and  home-sickness  came  over  her :  she  sank 
into  the  nearest  chair,  and  with  trembling  fingers  endeavored  to 
remove  her  bonnet.  But  the  strings  were  knotted,  and  her  en- 
deavors to  unloose  them  only  rendered  them  more  inextricable. 

Leafy  Earle  sprang  forward.  "  Let  me  assist  you,  Miss 
Wedgewood  !  "  and,  as  her  slender  fingers  unravelled  the  knot 
and  smoothed  out  the  long  curls  under  the  bonnet  she  removed, 
Peace  looked  up  with  a  grateful  smile  and  a  gentle  "thank 
you  !  "  which  quite- won  her  heart. 

But  Orah  Rowland  sat  aloof.  Leaning  her  elbow  on  the 
window  sill  and  her  head  on  her  hand,  she  steadily  regarded  the 
new  comer.  Orah's  was  no  common  character.  At  fifteen  she 
was  mature,  self-possessed,  and  self-reliant.  Many  called  her 
self-willed  and  haughty ;  but  they  were  those  who  could  not  un- 
derstand the  workings  of  a  high  noble  spirit  which  often  prompt- 
ed her  to  an  independence,  sometimes  a  defiance  of  conventional 
rules  and  forms,  —  causing  her  to  read  character  by  a  kind  of 
intuition,  thus  creating  sudden  and  powerful  likes  and  dislikes,  — 
and  hindering  her  from  moulding  her  thoughts  or  opinions  by 
the  creed  of  others.  To  such  she  was  a  "strange,"  "odd," 


100  PEACE  :     OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

"  haughty  "  girl ;  to  those  who  knew  her,  she  was  a  creature  to 
be  loved  strongly  —  full  of  all  high,  generous,  and  affectionate 
impulses. 

In  her  personale,  neither,  was  she  after  the  common  type. 
With  features  irregular,  but  each  of  its  own  style  of  beauty  —  a 
haughty  Koman  nose  with  thin  curling  nostrils,  a  massive,  pro- 
minent forehead,  heavy  brows  arching  over  —  eyes  of  a  calm 
clear  gray,  a  pale,  almost  dazzlingly  fair  complexion,  hair  of 
uncommon  wealth  and  glossiness  almost  approaching  that  purple 
blackness  seen  on  the  ripe  Tuscan  grape,  a  form  not  over  tall 
but  well-rounded  and  flexile  —  such  was  her  exterior.  No  one 
would  have  dreamed  of  calling  her  handsome ;  but  the  words 
"noble,"  "queenly-looking,"  and  "brilliant,"  successively  ap- 
plied by  her  school-mates,  were  not  unapt.  Indeed,  the  cast  of 
her  features,  with  her  heavy  brow,  clear  gray  eye,  and  masses 
of  hair,  was  almost  masculine.  But  the  small  tender  mouth 
with  its  expression  of  feminine  sweetness  was  the  redeeming 
feature.  It  was  a  womanly  mouth,  small,  curved,  and  coral-red. 

Now,  as  she  sat  with  her  head  resting  on  one  white  hand  — 
the  full  flowing  sleeve  falling  back  from  her  polished  arm,  re- 
vealing a  massive  bracelet  of  braided  jet-black  hair  fastened  by 
a  large  plain  golden  clasp  —  and  the  other  toying  carelessly  with 
the  charms  on  her  watch-chain  —  her  gray  eyes  steadily  regard- 
ing Peace  with  a  clear,  piercing,  but  not  unkind  or  curious  glance 
• —  she  looked  haughtily  beautiful. 

At  this  moment  the  porter  brought  up  two  trunks  and  depos- 
ited them  within  the  room.  Leafy  immediately  began  gather- 
ing up  her  books,  that  half  the  table  they  were  to  share  in  com- 
mon might  be  appropriated  to  the  use  of  her  room-mate.  But 
Orah  stirred  not ;  and  Peace  sat  for  a  little  time  half-abashed 
under  the  strong  gaze  of  those  eyes.  Then  the  innate  inde- 
pendence of  her  own  nature  rose  to  her  aid.  She  was  far  from 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        101 

her  home  —  alone  among  the  threescore  young  ladies  at  the 
Seminary  —  here,  in  her  own  room,  sat  a  girl,  rich  and  haughty, 
judging  from  her  dress  and  air,  intently  regarding  her,  perhaps 
criticising  her  plain  black  dress  and  contrasting  it  with  her  own 
rich  attire  —  but  she  would  not  let  that  annoy  her.  Yet  there 
was  a  slight  flush  on  her  cheek ;  but  she  rose  very  quietly,  and, 
with  a  womanly  air,  laid  her  straw  hat  and  shawl  on  the  bed, 
took  her  keys  from  her  pocket,  and  proceeded  to  unlock  her 
trunks. 

Orah  Howland  rose,  and  stepping  toward  her  laid  her  hand 
upon  her  arm. 

"  Miss  Wedgewood,  beg  pardon,  but  please  tell  me  your  other 
name ! " 

"  Peace,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

"Well,  then,  I  must  call  you  so  always.  Peace  —  I  like 
that ;  and  I  have  looked  at  you,  and  I  like  you,  too !  Peace, 
will  you  let  me  love  you  ?  You  look  so  much  like  somebody  I 
know  ! "  —  and  a  brilliant  blush  dyed  the  cheek  of  the  "  cold," 
"  haughty,"  Orah  Howland,  as  she  put  her  arm  about  her  neck 
and  kissed  her. 

Peace  very  quietly  returned  the  caress  —  but,  as  she  turned 
hastily  aside  there  was  a  quick  quiver  of  her  red  lips,  and  a 
tear  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  said,  gratefully. 

Orah  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  earnestly ;  the  red  deepen- 
ing on  her  cheek,  then  glancing  at  her  black  dress,  said,  "  Are 
you  an  orphan,  Peace  ?  " 

.  "  Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "  Aunt  Patience  and  uncle  Reuben 
brought  me  up.  Aunty  is  dead.  Then  after  a  moment  she  ad- 
ded —  "I  never  knew  my  mother." 

Orah  caught  her  hand,  pressed  it  hard,  then  suddenly  turned 
away  to  the  window  where  she  stood  long  with  her  lips  pressed 

9* 


102        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WTLL. 

passionately  to  the  jet-black  bracelet  upon  her  arm.  Long  she 
stood  there,  while  Peace  wiped  the  tears  from  her  own  eyes,  and, 
assisted  by  Leafy  Earle,  busied  herself  in  removing  her  dresses 
from  the  trunks,  hanging  them  in  the  closet  assigned  her,  and 
arranging  her  books  on  the  little  study  table.  Suddenly  she 
passed  from  the  room  with  a  quick  impetuous  step ;  but  as  her 
eyes  fell  on  Peace  a  moment  ere  she  closed  the  door,  they  spar- 
kled with  tears. 

"  She  lost  her  mother  just  before  she  came  here  two  years 
ago,"  said  Leafy.  "  That  bracelet  is  of  her  hair.  There  is'nt  a 
girl  in  the  Seminary  but  covets  her  notice.  She  has  taken  a 
great  liking  to  you,  Peace,  I  see.  There,  all  finished ! "  she  ex- 
claimed, as,  after  busying  herself  with  arranging  the  books  on 
the  white  draperied  table,  she  sat  down  beside  it  —  "  I've  placed 
your  books  as  you'll  want  them — but  let's  see,  I'll  leave  out  the 
text  books  for  the  afternoon.  Ah,  Andrews'  Latin  Reader.  You 
will  take  Latin,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  read  it  a  little  already  —  but  let  us  talk  about  her 
—  Miss  Rowland,  if  you  please." 

"  Ah,  I  see,"  said  Leafy  with  a  smile.  "  She  has  fascinated 
you  as  she  does  all.  But  beware !  I  shall  be  jealous  if  you 
usurp  my  place  in  her  heart.  Do  you  know  that  we  were  talk- 
ing about  you  just  as  you  came  in  —  and  Orah  was  declaring 
herself  vexed  because  Madame  Southwoiii.  put  you  in  with  me. 
We  have  been  room-mates  for  a  year,  Orah  and  I  — Why,  I  ex- 
pected she'd  prove  your  sworn  enemy ! " 

"  Indeed,  I'm  sure  I  didn't  intend  to  separate  you,"  replied 
Peace  deprecatingly. 

"  Oh,  you  couldn't  help  it  dear ! "  exclaimed  Leafy.  "  It  was 
only  one  of  Madame's  notions.  I  suppose  she  thought  the  weal- 
thy Judge  Rowland's  daughter  was  getting  too  intimate  with  the 
humble  Leafy  Earle.  And  so  she  told  Orah  that  she  would 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

regard  it  as  a  particular  favor  if  she'd  room  with  Miss  Nell  Den- 
more,  whose  father  also  happens  to  be  one  of  the  upper  ten  of 
her  native  Gotham.  But  never  mind,  Peace.  You  and  I  will 
be  the  best  of  chums.  I  shouldn't  resign  you,  even  were  Orah 
herself  to  invite  you  to  share  her  bed  and  board." 

Peace  laughed  merrily ;  but  her  thoughts  reverted  to  the  girl 
who  had  obtained  such  a  hold  on  her  heart. 

"  Then  she  is  wealthy  —  and  lives  in  New  York  ?  Tell  me 
all  about  her." 

"  Well,  to  begin,"  said  Leafy  burying  her  dainty  little  figure 
in  the  depths  of  a  rocking  chair  and  resting  the  tip  of  her  tiny 
slippered  foot  on  a  low  stool.'  "  O.  Howland  is  the  best  girl  in 
Northfield  Seminary,  whom,  if  you  hear  anybody  say  they  don't 
like,  be  sure  they  don't  know  her,  or  she  won't  know  them.  You 
can't  know  her  in  a  day  or  a  week ;  her  character  will  bear 
studying,  and  repay  you  well,  too,  for  your  pains.  Her  father  is 
very  wealthy  —  Judge  Howland  of  New  York  —  they  live  in  the 
city  in  winter,  and  in  summer  have  a  splendid  country  seat 
somewhere,  or  travel.  Her  mother  died  two  years  •ago,  as  I  told 
you.  She  mourns  her  a  great  deal  still ;  and  she  told  me  the 
other  day,  that,  if  she  had  a  step-mother,  she  believed  she  should 
hate  her !  That's  just  like  her  —  where  she  loves,  she  loves 
strongly,  and  will  let  no  second  object  supersede  the  first.  She 
went  everywhere  with  her  mother  for  her  health  the  two  years 
previous  to  her  death  —  to  Washington,  the  South,  to  the 
Springs.  When  she  graduates,  she  says  her  father  has  prom- 
ised a  foreign  journey  —  to  visit  Europe  —  Italy !  Ah,  that's 
the  only  thing  /envy  her  —  the  means  to  visit  the  land  of  Tasso 
and  Michael  Angelo  —  the  home  of  the  poet,  the  painter,  the 
sculptor !  It  is  all  I  would  ask  —  yet  I  am  poor,  and  it  must  be 
denied  me  ! "  The  flush  on  the  girl's  transparent  cheek  deep- 
ened to  a  rich  crimson,  her  hazel  eye  gleamed  with  a  beautiful 


104  PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

light  —  but  a  soft  sigh  escaped  her  lips.  "  Yes  it  must  be  denied 
me ! "  she  repeated  sadly,  "  for  /  am  poor  !  "  Then  all  her 
beautiful  enthusiasm  died  out,  and  she  dropped  her  head  listlessly 
on  her  hand. 

'  Peace  comprehended  in  part  the  longings  of  that  enthusiastic 
artist  soul ;  but  her  own  gentle  loving  heart  held  another  creed 
—  another,  and  a  better.  She  ventured  to  breathe  it  in  a  few 
quiet  words. 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  pleasant  to  have  wealth  —  to  go  to  other  and 
beautiful  countries.  But  would  it  not  be  better  to  do  good  with 
it  ?  There  are  so  many  poor  and  suffering  in  the  world,  I  have 
heard  —  so  many  poor,  and  suffering,  and  ignorant." 

"  That's  one  of  Orah's  doctrines,  too !  You  two  are  much 
alike,"  said  Leafy,  looking  up.  "I  will  tell  you.  Only  last 
night  she  said  almost  the  same.  We  had  been  talking  here,  but 
were  quiet  then  —  when  suddenly  she  broke  out,  'Leafy,  I 
thank  God  I  am  rich !  You  don't  know  what  plans  I've  formed 
of  doing  good  among  the  poor,  when  I  go  home.  There  are 
hundreds,  you  know,  in  great  cities  —  they  starve  there,  or  per- 
ish with  cold  and  sickness  every  year.  I  thank  God  that  he 
gave  me  the  means  to  do  good  with  ! '  That's  what  she  said  — 
does  that  sound  as  if  she  were  haughty  or  cold  ?  " 

"  No  indeed !  I  love  her  already ! "  exclaimed  Peace  with 
warmth.  "  She's  a  noble  girl.'' 

"  Yes,  that  she  is !  but  I  declare,  how  my  tongue  aches !  I 
have  chattered  like  a  magpie.  It  must  be  near  dinner  time ! " 

Peace  went  to  the  mirror  and  began  brushing  out  her  curl?. 
Their  golden  length  fell  in  profusion  down  her  slight  tall 
form. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Peace  ?  "  asked  Leafy. 

"  Almost  fourteen,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Why,  I  should  take  you  for  fifteen,  certainly  —  that's  Orah's 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN. WILL.  105 

age  and  mine.  You  are  taller  than  I  am,"  and  Leafy  stood  up 
beside  her. 

Leafy  was  indeed  a  very  child  in  appearance,  save  when  the 
sudden  flashes  burning  on  her  cheeks  told  of  the  impetuous 
blood  coursing  a  woman's  heart.  Then,  —  her  face  lighted 
with  the  glow  of  enthusiasm,  and  her  hazel  eyes  getting  darker 
and  more  brilliant,  —  one  saw  that  it  was  not  mere  childish  animar 
tion  which  stirred  her  usual  playfulness  or  listlessness  of  manner, 
but  the  betrayal  of  strong  and  earnest  feelings.  With  ex- 
quisite sensibilities,  and  a  power  of  appreciating  the  beauties  of 
Poesy  and  Art,  and  of  reproducing  them,  too,  in  language  and 
limnings  of  her  own,  the  young  girl  was  both  an  artist  and  a 
poet ;  and  in  personal  loveliness  she  equalled  those  for  whom  the 
lyre  has  been  swept  or  the  canvas  painted.  But  now,  standing 
side  by  side  with  Peace  before  the  mirror,  she  gracefully  ad- 
justed the  braids  about  her  head  —  chatting  meantime  •  like  a 
very  school-girl.  In  five  minutes  she  had  graphically  thrown 
off  sketches  of  the  teachers  and  half  the  young  ladies  at  the 
Seminary. 

"  Yes,  Peace,"  she  continued,  after  the  Principal  and  the 
assistants  had  been  discussed,  "I'm  confident  you'll  like  many 
of  the  girls  here.  There's  Nell  Denmore,  Orah's  room-mate, 
rather  quiet  and  haughty,  but  a  grand  scholar.  Belle  Allston  — 
she's  a  capital  girl  for  fun  —  always  up  to  some  frolic.  But 
Madame  seems  blind  to  her  faults  ;  on  the  score  of  her  scholar- 
ship, I  suppose  —  for  she's  splendid  —  stands  next  to  Orah  who 
takes  to  the  substantial  —  they  both  excel  in  the  mathematics 
and  languages.  Then  thete's  Alice  Doane  and  Kate  Drew  — 
two  prim,  old-maidish  girls  —  study,  eat,  sleep,  and  walk  by 
rule.  Martha  Wells  —  well,  if  you  wont  laugh  when  I  point 
her  out  in  school !  —  such  little  old-fashioned  sleeves  as  she 
wears,  and  plain  linen  collars,  an  an  eternal  knot  of  green 


106        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

ribbon  !  she's  worn  it  three  terms,  to  my  knowledge.  Then  she's 
so  thin,  too  —  all  lines  and  angles.  Ugh !  I  never  look  at  her 
in  the  drawing  class,  but  I  think  of  withered  trees  and  leafless 
branches  —  no  grace  or  beauty  about  her.  And  Carrie  Elton  — 
she's  a  splendid  pianist !  Do  you  play,  Peace  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  young  girl,  athwart  whose  brain  stole  a 
memory  of  the  only  music  heard  within  the  old  farm-house  — 
the  buzz  of  Aunt  Patience's  spinning-wheel  —  "  no,  but  I  hope 
to  take  lessons.  I  should  love  it,  of  all  studies." 

"  Yes  indeed !  I  wonder  how  one  can  help  loving  music ! 
But  the  best  I  hear  is  out  there,  in  that  old  grove,"  pointing  from 
the  window  to  a  thick  dark  woodland  in  the  hollow  between  two 
hills  —  "  such  concerts  as  the  birds  get  up  there,  these  beautiful 
September  mornings  !  We  must  go  there  often.  The  dear, 
care-free  birds  !  I  almost  envy  them  their  liberty,  while  we  are 
shut  up  here  six  hours  in  the  day,  and  half  the  rest  of  the  time 
in  our  rooms,  subject  to  Madame's  l  Rules  and  Regulations.' 
Dear  me  !  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  view  life  soberly,  or  with  a 
sense  of  its  seriousness  ?  The  time  will  come,  perhaps,  when  I 
shall  grow  sedate  and  thoughtful :  but  now,  give  me  freedom  — 
yes,  freedom  —  and  love  —  I  couldn't  do  without  that,  Peace  — 
and  I  am  contented.  What  are  you  going  to  be,  after  you  grad- 
uate, Peace  ?  "  turning  soberly  toward  her,  —  "  not  a  teacher, 
I  hope  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  be ! "  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"  Want  to  be  ?  "  echoed  Leafy,  with  an  expression  of  amaze- 
ment. "  Oh  dear,  how  can  you  say  so  ?  Why  I  couldn't,  from 
choice.  I  wish  there  was  no  such  thing  as  work  in  the  world. 
But  I  suppose  I'll  be  obliged  to  do  something  for  a  living?  one 
of  these  days.  You  see,  I've  got  a  dear  good  mother  who  has 
saved  up  the  little  my  father  left,  to  educate  me  ;  and  by  and  by 
I  must  repay  her.  It  wont  seem  like  toil,  though,  with  such  an 


PEACE  I    OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  107 

object  in  view.  I  long  for  my  school  days  to  be  over  —  that  I 
may  go  home  to  her." 

"  And  so  you'll  teach,  then  ?  " 

"Not  little  children  their  a-b-c's ! "  and  Leafy  laughed  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  '  Par  dong,'  as  Mam'selle  Lucie  says. 
'Mais  excusez  moi'  No  !  I  love  my  beautiful  Art  too  well.  I 
must  teach  that,  or  starve  !  Shall  I  show  you  something  ?  "  and 
she  brought  a  portfolio  from  the  table  and  sat  down  beside 
Peace. 

A  beautiful  flush  gathered  on  the  young  girl's  cheek,  as  Leafy 
removed,  one  by  one,  the  sketches  from  the  portfolio.  They 
were  done  in  crayon,  for  the  most  part  — -  heads,  busts,  land- 
scapes, ruins,  towers  and  waterfalls  —  the  faultlessness  of  their 
shading  and  nicety  of  finish  evincing  a  correct  and  cultivated 
taste  ;  but  Peace,  to  whom  these  pictures  opened  a  new  field  in 
the  realm  of  the  Beautiful,  lingered  longest  over  several  vigorous 
and  faithful  pencilled  sketches  from  nature  —  forest,  hill,  river, 
and  winding  brook,  as  seen  from  the  windows  of  their  room. 
These  the  young  artist  girl  had  considered  her  chefs-d'oeuvres ; 
and  a  bright  grateful  smile  hovered  about  her  lips,  as  she  saw 
the  appreciative  glance  which  Peace  alternately  cast  from  them 
to  the  landscape  without. 

"  They  are  very  true,  and  beautiful,"  said  Peace  softly  and 
with  sparkling  eyes  as  she  closed  the  portfolio. 

"  Now  you  know,  Peace,  why  I  cannot  teach  children  to  read 
and  spell.  To  my  Art,  must  I  devote  myself;  but  sometimes  I 
have  bitter  thoughts  because  I  cannot  wholly  indulge  my  love 
for  it.  Were  I  a  man,  I  would  toil  and  struggle,  and  become  a 
great  painter ;  but  as  I  am  only  a  poor  feeble  girl,  I  must  be 
content  to  make  pictures  and  sell  them  for  my  daily  bread. 
Poverty  is  a  hard  taskmaster,  Peace.  I  almost  envy  Orah 
ind  ill"  wealth  which  will  take  her  to  Italy.  Why  is  it 


108  PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

denied  me  ?  "  and  she  paced  the  floor,  with  carnation  cheeks  and 
flashing  eyes. 

Meantime  Peace  sat  very  still.  She  was  thinking  of  her  own 
little  patrimony  —  the  three  hundred  dollars,  which  had  been 
the  fruit  of  a  lifetime  of  economy  and  self-denial  to  good  old 
Aunt  Patience  —  how  little,  how  very  little  way  it  would  go 
toward  purchasing  the  elegant  attire,  the  jewels  even,  of  the 
rich  Orah  Howland  —  but  how  far  she  must  make  it  extend  in 
procuring  for  her  what  she  valued  far  above  the  luxuries  of 
dress  —  the  knowledge  her  thirsting  spirit  would  acquire  at  the 
Seminary. 

"  The  dinner  bell ! "  exclaimed  Leafy,  breaking  her  revery 
as  its  peal  rang  along  the  passages,  and  a  tap  upon  the  door  was 
followed  by  the  entrance  of  Orah  Howland  and  her  room-mate. 
"  Come,  Peace,  I  will  matronize  you  !  "  and  with  her  arm  about 
her  slight  waist,  the  affectionate  girl  led  the  new  comer  along  the 
corridors,  down  the  broad  staircase,  where  joined  by  a  score  of 
young  ladies  issuing  from  their  rooms,  they  sought  the  long 
dining-room. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

"  Ha !  I  have  thee  fast 
In  a  net  of  my  own  weaving !  " 

IT  was  late  at  night ;  Augustus  Revere  and  Hugh  Golding  sat 
together  in  the  former's  mansion,  —  a  table  strewn  with  cards 
and  dice  between  them.  A  massive  sideboard  was  covered  with 
glasses  and  decanters  of  choice  liquors,  —  and  an  open  escritoire 
strewn  with  papers. 

Both  men  were  strongly  excited ;  there  was  an  angry  flush 
on  their  cheeks,  and  a  sparkle  in  their  eyes  not  wholly  induced 
by  the  wine  they  had  drank.  Golding  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
an  expression  of  cool  determination  deepening  over  his  face  — - 
furtively  eyeing  his  companion  on  whose  cheek  an  angry  red 
spot  stood.  At  length,  after  full  five  minutes,  in  which  no  word 
had  been  spoken,  the  former  broke  the  silence.  Bringing  his 
hand  down  on  the  table  so  heavily  that  the  cards  flew  in  every 
direction,  he  said  in  a  slow  measured  voice  — 

"  It's  no  use,  Revere !  The  money  I  must,  and  will  have ! 
Here,  for  three  years,  I've  not  troubled  you  —  what  the  devil 
do  you  mean  by  hanging  off  so,  now  ?  " 

Revere's  eye  flashed  angrily,  and  the  flush  deepened.  "  Gold- 
ing, I  wont  submit  to  it  longer!  —  I  can't!  —  Such  cursed 
exorbitance !  You're  a  very  leech  upon  my  purse.  For  twelve 
years  I've  fathered  all  your  debts " 

"  Even  as  I  fathered — your  child"  sneered  Golding.  " "We 
are  at  quits,  then ! " 

"  Yes,  we  are  at  quits,  Golding.  I  mean  it  now.  I've  been 

10  (109) 


110        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

a  fool  to  be  kept  in  leading  strings  so  long.  Go  to  Jule  —  tell 
her  all  —  I'll  risk  the  consequences." 

"  Ah,  yes !  I  see !  You're  quite  willing  now  that  the  expose 
shall  occur,  when,  what  with  your  extravagant  drains  upon  it, 
the  depths  of  her  purse  must  have  been  reached.  Cotton  field 
after  cotton  field  has  been  sold  by  that  loving,  yielding  woman, 
plantation  after  plantation  has  been  converted  into  money ;  and 
that  money,  you  have  squandered !  To  keep  your  name  above 
board  in  the  mercantile  world,  she  has  almost  beggared  her- 
self. And  now  you  would  repay  her.  Oh,  most  rare,  most 
dutiful  husband !  But,  Revere,  though  you  can  cheat  the  world 
—  Jule  even  —  you  cannot  me !  I  know  by  what  means  you 
have  retained  your  hold  over  your  wife,  commanding  her  heart 
and  fortune  —  it  is,  that  she  has  always  regarded  you  as  imma- 
culate, so  far  as  concerns  affaires  du  coeur.  Content,  so  you  do 
not  run  after  pretty  actresses  or  ballet  girls,  she  has  winked  at 
your  lesser  vices,  and  submitted  to  pay  your  debts  of  honor. 
But,  some  fine  day,  walk  in  with  young  Jasper  Golding  on  your 
arm,  and  post  her  up  regarding  his  paternity,  and  then,  what 
think  you  ?  —  However,  these  arguments  have  all  been  present- 
ed before ;  I  did  not  come  all  the  way  from  New  Orleans  to  re- 
fresh your  memory  with  them.  But  I  would  merely  suggest, 
that,  should  you  persist  in  this  course,  a  certain  set  of  diamonds 
owned  by  Mrs.  Revere  said  to  be  worth  no  less  than  ten  thou- 
sand, can  never  be  pawned,  pledged,  or  borrowed,  to  get  you 
out  of  the  tight  place  you  are  now  said  to  be  in.  —  Ha!  you 
start,  Gus !  Where'd  I  learn  that  ?  You  wonder  ?  /  stood  at 
the  faro  table  last  night,  when  you  lost !  But  come,  let  us  not 
sit  here  half  the  night,  beating  round  the  bush.  I  tell  you, 
Gus,  I'm  in  a  tight  place,  and  you'd  better  come  down  with  the 
money,  or  raise  it  for  me  in  a  given  time." 

llevere's  face  darkened ;  but  his  lips  seemed  cut  01  iron. 


PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.       Ill 

"  Hugh  Golding,  once  for  all,  I  wiU  not !     Take  the  boy,  to- 
morrow, if  you  like,  into  Jule's  presence.     She'll  storm  at  first 

—  of  course  she  will  —  I  expect  it,  —  but,  mark  me,  she'll  give 
in  at  last.     No  woman  like  her  would  publish  her  husband's 
error  to  the  world ;  and,  after  all,  what  have  /done  worse  than 
hundreds,  aye,  thousands  of  others  ?     In  my  younger  days  I  was 
no  saint  —  Mary  Halpine  was  beautiful,  and  I  loved  her"  — 
and  for  a  moment  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes  as  if  to  shut 
out  a  vision,  and  his  voice  grew  thicker.  —  "  Yes,  by  Heaven,  I 
did  love  that  girl  as  I  never  loved  any  woman  on  earth  before, 
or  since!     But  I  couldn't  marry  her — at  least,  I  was  fettered 
by  such  cursed  debts  that,  when  I  met  the  heiress,  I  wouldn't  — 
which  amounted  to  the  same  thing.     And  so  we  parted.     Had  I 
done  differently  —  but  it's  no  use  talking  now.     I  married  Jule 

—  and  have  been  faithful  to  her.     So  long  as  she  walks  un- 
harmed amid  the  thousand  temptations  which  assail  a  woman  of 
fashion,  I  should  be  a  very  brute,  were  I  to  desert  her  for  an- 
other.    No !  my  passion  for  gaming  has  been  my  only  absorb- 
ing sin.     Though  I  married  with  vows  of  reform  on  my  lips,  I 
have  not  found  strength  to  keep  them  —  they  were  weak  as  fet- 
ters of  sand  to  bind  me.     Hugh  Golding,  I  have  heard  men 
prate  of  the  terrible  power  of  habit  —  heard  them  tell  of  the 
fascinating  thrall  of  dice  and  the  wine  cup  —  and  I  used  to  vote 
it  all  humbug,  gammon  —  but  I  tell  you,"  and  here  the  pale 
haggard  face  of  the  speaker,  and  his  thin  trembling  hand,  added 
fearful  weight  to  his  words  —  "I  tell  you,  it  is  all  true !     These 
passions  are  strong  as  death !     I  verily  believe,  had  I  my  last 
dollar  in  my  hand  to-night  before  twenty-four  hours  I  should 
stake  it  at  Delmonte's ! " 

For  a  time  there  was  deep  silence. 

"  Then  you  will  not   let  me  have  the  money  ? "  ventured 
Golding  at  length. 


112  PEACE:   OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

"  No ! "  was  the  inflexible  reply. 

There  was  no  discomfiture  on  the  careless,  smiling  face  turn- 
ed toward  Revere.  On  the  contrary,  a  cool  assured  expression, 
like  one  secure  of  his  aim,  settled  on  every  feature.  Golding 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  stretched  his  feet  in  a  comfortable  posi- 
tion over  an  ottoman  before  the  fire,  and  said,  leisurely  — 

"  Well,  then,  Revere,  since  you  will  not  comply  with  my  re- 
quest, perhaps  you  will  be  glad  to  make  terms,  after  I  have  re- 
vealed something  which  has  lain  on  my  conscience  rather  heavi- 
ly for  these  nineteen  years.  I  did  intend  to  spare  you  this  — 
but  you  will  not  have  it  so !  ' 

Revere,  whose  temper  was  thoroughly  aroused,  sneered. 
"  Bring  on  your  conscientious  scruples.  I  am  waiting  for  'em." 

Golding  smiled  exultingly.  Leaning  over  the  table,  he  whis- 
pered with  eyes  keenly  bent  on  his  companion's,  ''  Augustus  Re- 
vere, I  have  the  proof  that  your  marriage  with  Julie  Courtney 
was  illegal.  You  were,  at  that  time,  the  lawful  husband  of  Mary 
Halpine  !  " 

It  is  impossible  for  pen  to  portray  the  change  which  came 
over  the  face  of  that  man.  First,  an  ashen  hue  went  from  lip  to 
forehead,  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet ;  then  the  knotted  veins  stood 
out  like  whipcords,  and  his  eyes  struck  sparks  of  flame.  With 
a  groan,  he  grasped  the  marble  mantel  for  support  —  then  stag- 
gered back  heavily  into  his  chair,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

After  a  little  he  recovered.  "  By  Heaven !  it  is  a  lie  — 
a  cursed  lie ! "  and  he  smote  his  fist  on  the  table  till  the  glasses 
rung. 

A  cool,  derisive  smile  curled  Golding's  lip.  "  Oh,  ho  !  Take 
it  easy,  G-us !  What's  the  use  to  get  in  a  passion  and  call  your 
best  friend  a  liar?  Be  sure  I  assert  nothing  of  which  I  have 
not  the  proof"  and  he  carelessly  drew  forth  a  letter-case  from 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        113 

his  pocket  from  which  he  took  a  folded  paper.  Handing  it  to 
his  companion,  he  leaned  forward  and  took  a  cigar  from  the 
mantel,  ignited  it,  and  placed  it  to  his  lips. 

"With  nervous  hand,  Revere  clutched  the  paper.  As  he  read, 
his  countenance  grew  livid.  It  was  the  certificate  of  his  mar- 
riage with  Mary  Halpine!  With  a  wild  glare  in  his  eyes, 
glancing  furtively  at  Golding  who  sat  idly  watching  the  curling 
wreaths  of  cigar-smoke,  he  crumpled  the  paper  in  his  hand,  then 
quick  as  lightning  dashed  it  into  the  burning  grate  ;  and  when 
a  tiny  heap  of  white  cinders  whirled  round  and  round  then 
leaped  up  the  chimney-flue,  he  turned  triumphantly  round,  faced 
Golding,  and  said  in  a  tone  of  exultation  : — 

"  Now  !  now  !  what  is  left  of  it  now  ?  " 

There  was  no  look  of  baffled  cunning  on  Gelding's  face  ;  nor 
did  he  stir  the  slightest  to  save  the  paper  from  destruction.  He 
took  the  cigar  from  his  lips,  twirled  it  carelessly  in  his  fingers, 
and  said  blandly :  — 

"  Why  did  you  try  that  game,  my  dear  fellow  ?  Do  you  take 
me  for  a  verdant  one  ?  I  know  you  as  well  as  I  do  myself — 
and  would  say  that  I  have  the  original  of  that  document  safe  in 
my  pocket-book.  You  have  burned  the  copy  !  " 

Revere  was  powerless.  He  sank  away  into  his  seat  with  a 
groan. 

"  Did  she  —  Mary  —  know  this  ?  "  he  asked  at  length, 
hoarsely. 

"No,"  —  and  Golding  transferred  his  cigar  to  his  lips, — 
"  never  told  her,  'pon  my  word  of  honor !  " 

"  Where  is  she  now  ?     Do  you  know  ?  —  living,  or  dead  ?  " 

A  shake  of  the  head  gave  a  negative  answer.  Revere 
breathed  freer. 

"  Then  what  the  devil  do  you  come  here  with  this  story  for  ? 
But,  after  all,  I  don't  believe  it.  It's  a  hoax  that  you've  trumped 

10* 


114        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

up  to  scare  me  with,  because  I  cannot  let  you  have  the  money. 
If  you  forged  one  certificate,  you  would  another.  Golding,  you 
aren't  the  man  I  took  you  for.  Let  us  call  it  a  joke,  and  let  it 
pass  —  yes,  a  confounded  good  joke,  Hugh  !  "  —  and  he  laughed 
nervously,  and  gazed  eagerly  up  into  his  face. 

Golding  threw  his  half-burned  cigar  into  the  grate,  and  his 
whole  manner  changed  instantaneously. 

"  Augustus  Revere,  look  at  me !  Am  I  the  man  who  would 
joke  with  you  on  such  a  subject  as  this  ?  You  doubt  my  words : 
well,  listen !  When  you  invited  me  to  officiate  on  a  certain 
occasion  quite  a  number  of  years  ago,  when  we  were  both 
younger  than  we  are  now,  I  didn't  see  fit  to  obey  your  direc- 
tions literally  —  because,  firstly,  prima  facia,  I  had  no  taste  for 
the  clericals,  and  didn't  know  for  my  life  how  I  could  easily  find 
my  way  into  a  surplice,  or  out  again  if  I  once  got  in ;  and  sec- 
ondly, because  a  very  happy  idea  occurred  to  me  then,  that, 
should  I  substitute  a  certain  young  acquaintance  who  wore  the 
cloth  by  right,  and  thus  the  ceremony  were  performed  bona  jfide, 
the  proof  of  this  might  be  rendered  available  to  me  on  some 
future  occasion,  for  instance,  like  the  one  that  has  just  turned 
up.  You  see  into  it  now,  I  reckon ! " 

"  Yes  —  yes  —  I  see  ! "  gasped  Revere  in  a  voice  choked  with 
sarcasm  and  passion.  "  And  I  am  sure  I  thank  you,  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart !  Julie,  too,  has  reason  to  be  very  grateful. 
Very  proud  she  must  be  of  her  cousin  !  Will  you  not  walk  up 
stairs,  and  inform  her  of  the  delightful  change  in  her  prospects  ? 
what  she  was,  and  what  she  is !  It  would  be  such  a  friendly, 
cousinly  favor !  Come  ! " 

Golding  winced  under  these  cool,  sarcastic  words ;  and  at  the 
mention  of  Julie's  name,  his  cheek  grew  pale,  and  he  bit  his  lip. 
Leaning  over  the  arm  of  his  chair,  he  hissed  into  his  companion's 
ear:  — 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  115 

'  Beware !  Revere,  I  may  take  you  at  your  word.  You 
taunt  me  with  aiding  in  my  cousin's  ruin  !  Listen :  But  a  few 
hours  before  Julie  Courtney  accepted  you,  I  —  who  had  loved 
ht  •  from  my  earliest  boyhood  —  begged  for  but  the  smallest 
word  of  favor  from  her  lips,  and  was  scornfully,  aye,  contemp- 
tuously rejected !  '  Because  of  the  known  laxity  of  my  princi- 
ples '  —  that  was  her  insulting  plea !  Forsooth  !  it  was  a  brave 
exchange  between  me  and  you  !  Revere,  do  you  wonder  now 
that  I  went  to  the  gaming  table  that  night,  maddened  ?  —  that  I 
played  desperately,  and  lost  ?  —  that,  when  I  sought  your  help 
in  my  embarrassing  debts,  and  when  I  learned  to  whom  Julie 
Courtney  had  pledged  herself,  I  was  tempted  to  make  my  neces- 
sity the  means  of  securing  my  revenge  f  Aye,  I  tell  you,  the 
temptation  was  strong,  and  I  did  not  resist  it !  To  know  that 
her  fate  lay  in  my  hands  —  to  let  her  walk  her  own  way  and 
never  to  divert  her  step  from  the  path !  Oh,  this  was  noble, 
manly  —  an  honorable  revenge ! "  —  and  he  paced  the  floor,  with 
a  bitter  smile  upon  his  lips. 

Revere  comprehended  the  emotions  which  had  swayed  that 
fiery  soul.  All  his  old  coolness  and  cunning  came  to  his  aid. 
He  saw,  clearly,  the  peril  he  was  in.  There  was  but  one  way 
of  escape.  Going  up  to  Golding,  he  laid  his  hand  heavily  on 
his  shoulder. 

"  How  much  money  do  you  need  ?  " 

Golding  turned  sharply. 

"  I  got  bondsmen  in  New  Orleans  for  three  thousand.  But  I 
must  have  a  surplus  to  commence  anew  upon.  To-morrow  I  go 
to  Boston  to  try  my  fortune  with  the  fickle  goddess  there.  In 
ten  days  I  shall  return  to  New  York.  Have  in  readiness  for 
me  six  thousand  —  not  a  dollar  less.  You  can  easily  obtain  it 
by  borrowing  from  the  firm,  or,  what  would  be  easier  for  you, 
pawning  Julie's  diamonds.  Ball  and  Black  will  gladly  advance 


116  PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

that  sum  on  them.     Then  this  marriage  certificate  is  yours ;  and 
we  have  done  with  each  other  forever." 

Revere  was  very  pale ;  but  he  replied  firmly,  "  Golding,  the 
money  shall  await  you  1 " 


CHAPTEE    XIII. 

He  went  to  his  grave  nor  told  what  man  he  was. 
He  was  unlanguaged,  like  the  earnest  sea, 
Which  strives  to  gain  an  utterance  on  the  shore 
But  ne'er  can  shape  unto  the  listening  hills 
The  lore  it  gathered. 

ALEXANDER  SMITH. 

IT  was  dreary  November.  October,  golden  and  crimson 
hued,  had  exacted  her  last  tribute  from  the  trees ;  the  pomp  and 
glory  of  the  autumn  was  over ;  the  last  naming  banner  had 
flaunted  on  the  air ;  from  the  skies  as  well  as  woods  the  hec- 
tic flush  had  died;  and  dun,  leaden  clouds  —  meet  attendants 
for  the  sun's  journey,  those  short,  dreary  days  —  gloomed 
athwart  the  gray  skies.  In  the  forests  and  the  hollows,  waves 
of  dead  leaves  surged  to  and  fro  ;  the  grass  was  short  and  brown 
and  crisp  on  the  stubble-fields  and  meadow-land,  save  where 
some  faint  strip  of  sickly  green  marked  the  track  of  the  low 
water-courses ;  the  rushes  and  willows  along  the  river-banks 
were  dimly  powdered  with  hoarfrost ;  lonely  bird-songs  were 
piped  at  intervals  from  the  reedy  marshes ;  and  sad  winds  went 
singing  their  Banshee  wail  over  all  the  land. 

What  was  there  in  those  dreary  skies,  the  sobbing  wail  of  the 
mournful  winds,  to  send  a  thrill  to  Reuben  Wedgewood's  heart 
and  a  shiver  over  his  frame,  as  he  wandered  about  his  farm,  — 
or,  crossing  the  low  meadows,  and  going  sadly  along  the  path 
through  the  naked  woodlands,  went  often  in  the  gloaming  to  the 
graves  on  Wood  Hill  ?  Why  sang  the  pines  and  firs  there  so 

(117) 


118        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

mournfully  —  and,  tossing  their  dusky  plumes  aloft  upon  the 
gray  air,  seemed  to  whisper  dirges  ?  Were  they  warnings  ? 

Of  all  the  lonely  autumns  —  and  there  had  been  three  since 
Patience  was  laid  to  rest,  and  Peace's  footsteps,  save  at  inter- 
vals, had  ceased  to  make  the  music  of  his  heart  —  of  all  these 
lonely  autumns,  this  was  the  dreariest  to  Reuben.  Not  only  the 
wind  piped  its  sad  songs  about  the  corners  and  gables  of  the  old 
farm-house  —  not  only  the  skies  gloomed,  and  rushing  rains  fell, 
swelling  the  water-courses  and  making  the  brook  roar  turbulently 
through  the  valley  down  to  the  river,  and  the  swollen  river 
surged  on  its  way,  and  from  the  distant  sea,  the  moan  of  the  bil- 
lows lashed  into  fury  on  the  rocky  beach,  came  distinctly  with  a 
sound  of  desolation  and  storms  and  shipwreck  on  the  main  —  not 
only  over  outward  nature  was  this  "saddest  time  of  all  the 
year"  gaining  dominion,  —  but  over  his  spirit.  For  then,  hi 
that  sad  autumn-time,  when  the  sheaves  were  all  garnered  into 
barns  and  storehouses  —  when  the  reapers  had  finished  their 
toils,  and  the  year  and  Nature  were  groping  along  to  their 
death-sleep  —  came  a  foreboding  shadow  of  the  Great  Reaper, 
who  binds  up  into  sheaves  that  he  may  gather  into  his  granaries 
every  human  hope,  and  love,  and  joy  —  whose  sickle  is  sharp 
and  merciless,  and  who  spares  none  from  his  path  —  even 
Death ! 

And  day  by  day,  slowly  but  steadily,  the  gloom  of  the  outer 
earth  had  penetrated  the  inner  life  of  Reuben.  He  heard  in  the 
whispering  pines,  the  rush  of  the  rain-storm,  the  distant  moan  of 
the  angry  sea,  and  the  wail  of  the  winds,  solemn  voices  speaking 
to  his  heart ;  and  then  came  a  great  peace  to  him  —  a  peace 
down-falling  from  the  Throne  of  the  Infinite  —  a  serener  light 
to  his  dark  gray  eye,  and  a  mild  benignity  to  his  seamed,  wrin- 
kled face.  The  shadow  fell  from  his  soul. 

One  afternoon  at  twilight,  Reuben  came  in  from  a  long  walk 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        119 

over  his  farm,  and  sat  down  in  thoughtful  quiet  by  the  kitchen 
hearth.  His  face  was  pale  ;  and  every  now  and  then  he  pressed 
his  hand  convulsively  on  his  heart. 

"  Are  you  sick,  Reuben  ?  "  asked  the  tall,  angular  Hannah 
Ward,  who  bustled  about  —  now  stirring  the  fire,  now  hanging 
the  iron  tea-kettle  on  the  trammel,  then  drawing  out  the  old- 
fashioned  round  table  and  laying  the  cloth  for  supper. 

"  No,"  was  the  reply.  "  Only  a  touch  of  my  old  complaint, 
that's  all.  It'll  go  off  by  and  by.  I  walked  too  far  this  after- 
noon." 

Hannah  went  about  in  her  scant  homespun  dress  and  thick 
shoes,  bringing  the  dishes  from  the  buttery,  placing  two  plates 
and  knives  and  forks  evenly  upon  the  table  —  and  then,  measur- 
ing out  the  tea  from  the  caddy,  poured  in  the  boiling  water,  and 
raking  open  the  ashes,  set  it  down  to  "  draw."  All  was  very 
quiet ;  for  Hannah  was  no  talker,  and  the  man  by  the  fire-place 
was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts  to  break  the  silence. 
At  last  he  looked  up  suddenly. 

"  Hannah,  do  you  believe  in  dreams  ?  " 

"  No  —  not  I ! "  answered  the  spinster  in  her  harsh  rough 
voice.  "  But  why  ?  " 

"Oh,  no  matter!"  replied  Reuben.  But  after  a  pause  he 
added,  "  I  dreampt  about  sister  Patience  a  good  deal  last  night. 
I  seemed  to  see  her,  a  beckoning  me.  Some  would  say  it's  a 
bad  sign,  Hannah." 

"  La,  that's  nothing !  "  retorted  the  spinster  in  a  quick,  jerk- 
ing tone.  "  If  'tis  a  sign,  'taint  a  bad  one !  Dreams  allers  go  by 
contraries  —  at  least  them  says  so  that  believes  such  nonsense. 
Dear  knows,  /  don't !  '  Dream  of  the  dead,  and  you'll  hear 
from  the  living,'  they  say." 

"  Well,  p'raps  so  —  p'raps  so ! "  returned  Reuben  with  a 
smile.  "  I  guess  we  shall  hear  from  Peace.  Let's  see,  it's  three 


120        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

weeks  since  she  wrote,  and  I  havn't  answered  her  yet.  I'll 
write  this  very  night.  We  must  have  her  home  to  Thanksgiv- 
ing —  a  week  from  next  Thursday.  Don't  you  think  she  could 
come  over  then,  Hannah  ?  I  believe  the  term  is  out  a  week 
after." 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  she'll  come  if  you  write.  No  doubt  she'll  be 
glad  to  get  out  a  week  aforehand ! " 

The  voice  which  uttered  these  words  was  hard  and  cold,  but 
Reuben  did  not  heed  it,  neither  the  keen  angry  glitter  of  her 
little  black  eyes,  or  her  heavy  step,  as  she  took  up  a  candle  and 
went  out  into  the  buttery.  "  Poor  old  fool ! "  she  muttered, 
taking  down  a  pie  and  plate  of  doughnuts  from  a  shelf —  "  It's 
always  '  Peace,'  '  Peace  ! '  Eternally  that  gal !  And  bimeby, 
I  s'pose,  she'll  be  coming  back  here  to  take  the  lead ;  and  when 
he  dies,  step  in  and  heir  the  property,  and  wrong  his  own  blood 
relations ! " 

Then  she  caught  up  the  candle,  and  returned  to  the  kitchen. 
Transferring  the  steaming  cakes  from  the  tin  baker  on  the  hearth 
to  the  table,  she  made  another  trip  to  the  outer  room  for  a  plate 
of  golden  butter  and  fresh  herb  cheese ;  then  pouring  out  the 
tea,  drew  up  two  straight-backed  kitchen  chairs,  and  said  gruffly 
—  "  Come,  supper's  ready ! " 

Reuben  took  his  place  at  the  table ;  but  only  drank  a  cup  of 
tea. 

"  Come,  why  don't  you  eat  ? "  exclaimed  Hannah,  herself 
doing  justice  to  the  food.  "You  must  be  sick.  You  do  look 
dreadful  pale.  Hadn't  I  better  do  something  for  you  ?  " 

"  No  —  it'll  pass  off  after  a  while.  No  doctor's  stuff  for  me, 
Hannah.  When  this  palpitation  comes  on,  quiet's  the  best  cure. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  much  o'  medicine,  either,"  said  Hannah, 
as  she  rose  from  the  table  —  "only  roots  and  'arbs,  and  sich. 
There's  some  power  in  them.  Patience  thought  a  deal  of  her 


PEACE  :     OB    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  121 

garden  —  her  rue,  and  sage,  and  balm,  and  elecampane.     She 
was  an  excellent  hand  hi  sickness  —  Patience  was." 

"Yes,"  and  Reuben  sighed.  "But  she's  gone  where  sickness 
never  comes,  Hannah." 

"  That's  true,"  echoed  Hannah  in  a  voice  a  little  softened, 
tying  on  a  wide  checked  apron  and  rolling  up  her  sleeves  pre- 
paratory to  the  process  of  "  clearing  "away ;"  then  with  rapid 
movements,  she  carried  the  food  to  the  buttery,  brought  a  bright 
pan  in  which  she  washed  the  dishes,  folded  the  snowy  homespun 
linen  table  cover  and  laid  it  evenly  on  the  dressers,  brought  a 
hemlock  broom  to  sweep  up  the  red  brick  hearth  till  the  embers 
crackled  and  sent  a  perfect  shower  of  sparks  up  the  wide  chim- 
ney mouth ;  then,  drawing  the  table  nearer  the  fire,  she  placed 
the  candle  in  its  centre  and  the  snuifers  evenly  in  the  tray,  and 
bringing  out  her  knitting  work,  sat  down  in  a  straight  high- 
backed  chair  close  beside  the  hearth. 

After  knitting  a  few  rounds,  she^  stopped  suddenly.  "  I  meant 
to  go  over  to  neighbor  Sanders  to-night,  to  get  that  wool  for 
carding ;  but  as  you  seem  so  poorly,  p'raps  I'd  better  stay  at 
home,  Reuben." 

"  No,  no !  don't  stay  for  me,  Hannah  !  I  feel  better  —  the 
pain's  almost  gone  now.  I  can  sit  still  here  by  the  fire  —  or,  if 
I  feel  smart  enough,  write  to  Peace  by  and  by.  Go,  Hannah ; 
and  jest  tell  neighbor  Sanders  that  he  can  have  that  winter 
wheat  we  talked  about.  I  didn't  know  as  I  could  spare  it ;  but 
Jie  can  have  what  he  wants." 

'•  "Well,  I  guess  I  will  step  over  there  for  a  little  while  then," 
and  Hannah  knit  briskly  round  on  the  gray  stocking  till  she 
reached  the  seam,  then  rolled  it  up  hard,  thrust  the  needles  firm- 
ly into  the  ball,  put  it  into  the  great  pocket  she  wore  outside  of 
her  dress,  and  brought  out  a  large  dyed  woollen  shawl  and  hood 
of  black  quilted  silk  from  the  bedroom. 

11 


122  PEACE  :     OB   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

"  Guess  I  wouldn't  go  out  to  the  barn  to-night,  Reuben,"  she 
paused  to  say,  with  her  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  door  leading 
into  the  little  outer  entry  —  "  Chip  '11  be  home  from  the  village 
about  nine,  I  guess  —  and  he'll  attend  to  the  critters." 

After  Hannah  Ward  had  gone,  Reuben  sat  in  his  arm  chair 
by  the  fire,  alone  with  his  own  thoughts.  It  was  very  lonely 
there  in  the  old  kitchen.  It  had  been  lonely  always,  since  Pa- 
tience's death ;  and,  except  when  Peace  came  home  to  spend  her 
few  weeks  of  vacation,  there  was  little  to  disturb  the  deep  quiet 
of  the  old  house.  But  the  fair  girl,  fast  growing  into  woman- 
hood and  becoming  daily  more  interested  in  her  studies,  did 
not  linger  long  at  home.  The  commencement  of  every  term 
found  her  at  the  Seminary ;  not,  however,  that  she  had  learned  to 
love  Reuben  less,  for  she  said  to  herself:  "  When  my  happy 
school-days  are  over,  I  will  go  back  to  the  farm-house  again." 
And  so  there  were  necessarily  many  lonely  hours  for  him  when 
she  was  absent. 

Hannah  Ward  had  indeed  been  a  faithful  housekeeper  to  Reu- 
ben in  the  literal  sense  of  the  term  —  but  nothing  more.  The 
kind  cheerful  presence  his  sister  had  always  diffused  around  was 
wanting  ;  from  her  daily  rounds  of  labor  —  baking,  churning, 
washing  and  sweeping  —  Hannah  could  afford  no  time  for  "  idle 
talkin'."  She  was  economical,  neat,  and  thrifty  to  a  remarkaHe 
degree.  Indeed,  neatness  was  the  spinster's  ruling  passion.  No 
speck  of  dust  dared  intrude  on  her  domains.  On  the  polished 
wood  of  the  old  dark  bureau,  the  "  hundred  legged "  table,  the 
mahogany  lightstand  with  its  claw  feet,  the  carved  cherry-wood 
frame  of  the  antique  mirror,  the  woven  carpet  and  braided  rugs 
which  adorned  the  west  room,  not  a  mote  settled ;  even  the 
three  long  sunbeams  slanting  in  through  the  holes  in  the  shut- 
ters had  a  pale  thin  aspect,  and  were  not  rich  with  a  thousand 
floating  golden  specks  as  sunbeams  ought  to  be.  Not  a  mote, 


PEACE:    OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  123 

either,  on  the  old  tall  clock  in  the  kitchen  corner  or  the  straight 
high-backed  chairs  ;  and  from  the  kitchen  floor  one  might  have 
eaten,  so  scrupulously  white  was  it  kept.  But  the  spinster's 
passion  was  carried  to  a  painful  degree  —  excluding  all  attempts 
at  adornment.  No  fresh  wreaths  of  evergreen  were  twined 
about  the  looking-glass  —  no  feathery  asparagus  with  interwoven 
bright  red  holly-berries  decked  the  frame  of  the  old  clock  —  no 
dried  grasses  drooped  gracefully  from  the  old-fashioned  china 
vases  on  the  little  mantel  in  the  west  room  —  as  in  Patience's 
time ;  because  Hannah  declared  such  all  "  trash "  and  "  trum- 
pery." 

Everything  had  gone  "  by  rule  "  since  she  came  to  the  Ridge. 
Old  Tabby,  now  grown  to  venerable  cathood,  stepped  demurely, 
and  with  measured  steps,  across  the  evenly  sanded  floor,  leaving 
tracks  from  the  hearth,  where  her  stereotyped  abiding-place  was 
the  limits  of  a  few  particular  bricks,  in  a  straight  line  to  the 
door  —  doubtless,  because  curved  lines  were  strongly  suggestive 
to  the  spinster  of  disorder ;  Bruno,  now  in  a  very  stiff  arid 
rheumatic  dotage,  curled  himself  up  in  a  warm  corner,  tolerated 
because  of  his  master's  sake ;  and  it  seemed,  even,  that  the 
pendulum  of  the  clock  oscillated  with  measured  sweeps  in  a 
dignified  manner,  lest  it  should  be  accused  of  lightness. 

Out  of  doors,  too,  the  one  idea  —  order  —  held  rule.  The 
box  border  along  the  garden  beds  was  straight^  prim,  formal ; 
every  sunflower  and  hollyhock  nodded  its  head  with  precision ; 
the  old  maid's  pinks  grew  at  a  farther  remove  than  of  old  from, 
the  ungallant  bachelor's  buttons,  seeming  to  say  in  the  triumph 
of  their  single  blessedness  —  "  See  !  we  ask  no  favors  !  we  can 
stand  by  ourselves ! "  and  even  the  climbing  beans,  morning 
glories,  and  creeping  jennies,  trailed  along  the  garden  fence  and 
over  the  kitchen  windows  more  circumspectly  than  of  old. 

And  among  the  living  creatures  on  the  farm,  Hannah  Ward's 


124  PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

dominant  spirit  prevailed.  The  kine,  forgetting  their  old  time 
freaks,  never  upset  the  equilibrium  of  milk-pail  or  milker,  but 
quietly  chewed  the  cud  —  doubtless  of  "  bitter  fancy  "  —  when 
Hannah  appeared  with  her  pail  and  stool ;  old  Whitey  meekly 
dropped  his  ears  at  her  approach ;  the  crow  of  the  rooster 
seemed  less  shrill  and  defiant,  and  every  hen  to  have  acquired  a 
subdued,  by-rule,  cackle. 

And  Chip,  too,  even  his  chattering  tongue  was  often  silent, 
his  quaint  fancies  unuttered,  and  his  exuberant  spirits  chilled, 
by  the  presence  of  the  gruff-voiced  housekeeper.  Yes,  a  change 
indeed  had  visited  the  Ridge  :  —  it  was  no  longer  the  pleasant, 
cheery  home  of  Aunt  Patience's  tune. 

As  Reuben  sat  in  silence  by  the  kitchen  fire,  his  thoughts 
dwelt  fondly  on  the  child  of  his  adoption.  "  By  and  by,"  he 
murmured,  "  she  will  come  back  to  brighten  up  the  old  house. 
Another  September  will  see  her  at  the  Ridge  again,  no  more  to 
leave  me.  Dear  child  —  I  must  write  to  her  and  have  her 
home  to  Thanksgiving !  "  and  he  went  to  an  old-fashioned  chest 
of  drawers,  and  took  from  its  top  an  antique  writing-case. 
Opening  the  lid,  he  spread  on  it  a  sheet  of  paper  and  sat  down 
at  the  table  to  write. 

This  was  something  of  a  task  for  the  farmer.  His  fingers 
were  cramped  and  stiff  with  hard  labor ;  he  had  had  no  occasion 
to  use  a  pen  often ;  and  when  Peace  was  at  home,  her  nimble 
fingers  had  always  written  for  him.  But  he  said  to  himself, 
u  No  matter  —  Peace  wont  laugh  at  my  blots  and  mistakes  !  "  — 
wrote  the  letter  in  a  large,  square,  old-fashioned  hand  —  sealed 
and  directed  it,  and  laid  it  out  on  the  table. 

Then,  opening  a  little  compartment  of  the  writing-case,  he 
took  out  a  carefully  folded  paper.  Reading  it  over  and  over, 
he  read  aloud,  with  a  smile,  "  Yes  —  yes.  '  To  my  well- 
beloved  adopted  child,  Peace  Wedgewood,  I  give  and  bequeath ' 


PEACE:  on  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        125 

—  let  me  see  — '  the  homestead,  the  meadow-farm,  the  wood- 
land, the  pasture-lot.'  Yes,  one  day  Peace  will  stand  with  the 
best  and  richest  of  'em.  How  this  would  meet  poor  Patience's 
wishes !  All  Peace's  —  all  but  the  legacy  for  Hannah.  I  mean 
to  leave  her  something,  of  course.  Sometimes  I  think  she  looks 
on  the  dear  child  with  a  jealous  eye.  I  must  see  to  that  —  yes, 
I  must !  "  At  length  he  refolded  the  paper.  Suddenly,  as  his 
hand  was  uplifted  to  restore  it  to  the  writing-case,  a  sharp  pang 
arrested  him.  Pressing  his  hands  over  his  heart,  the  paper, 
loosened  from  their  grasp,  fluttered  down  to  the  floor. 

The  pang  passed  as  suddenly  as  it  came,  and  he  stooped  for- 
ward to  regain  the  paper.  But  ere  his  fingers  had  touched  it, 
again  it  came  —  a  fierce,  wild,  keen  thrill,  sharp  as  a  dagger- 
point,  through  his  heavily  beating  heart.  With  convulsive  grasp,* 
clutching  at  the  lid  of  the  writing-case  before  him,  Reuben  sat 
erect  for  a  moment,  then  his  stalwart  form  collapsed  —  for  an- 
other spasm  came,  bringing  a  moment  of  such  keen  agony  as  he 
had  never  before  experienced  —  such  agony  as  no  man  knows 
but  once  —  when  the  death-throes  are  at  his  heart !  Starting 
up,  he  gave  one  shrill  cry  of  suffering,  then  sank  heavily  back 
again.  The  pang  had  passed  —  but  there  was  a  suffocating 
sensation  in  his  throat  —  a  marble  pallor  about  his  lips  —  lips, 
that  with  a  gurgling,  indistinct  utterance,  framed  out  the  last 
word  that  ever  warmed  the  struggling  tired  heart  or  passed  into 
sound  —  "  Mary  !  "  Then  his  head  fell  forward  ;  the  death- 
white  face  sank  down  on  the  lid  of  the  old  writing-case ;  the 
clutching  fingers  relaxed  their  hold ;  the  paper  lay  unfolded  at 
his  feet ;  and  all  was  silence. 

And  the  fire  on  the  hearth  crackled  and  died  down  ;  the  old 
clock  ticked  shrill  and  solemn  through  the  stillne'ss ;  and  the 
candle  burned  low,  wavered,  cast  ghostly,  dusky,  flickering 
shadows  athwart  the  wall,  then  went  out  in  utter  darkness. 

11* 


126  PEACE  I     OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

But  long  ere  its  last  gleam  had  faded,  a  soul  had  wandered  from 
below  that  old  farm-house  roof  to  the  dim  shores  of  Eternity  — 
a  lone  bark  had  crossed  the  Silent  River  amid  the  gloom  of  the 
chill  night-time,  and  anchored  in  a  still  haven  where  nevermore 
storms  vex,  skies  frown,  or  sad  winds  blow. 

And  what  said  the  solemn  "  tick !  "  "  tick  !  "  of  the  old  clock 
in  the  kitchen?  —  what  typified  the  smouldering  ashes  falling 
down,  charred  and  whitened,  on  the  hearth  ?  —  what  was  the 
burthen  of  the  sad  wind's  moan,  and  the  hollow  swell  of  the 
restless  sea  coming  up  through  the  awful  stillness  ? 

Ah,  there  was  but  one  answer  —  "  Death ! "  —  "  Death ! " 

And  so  Reuben  slept  on. 

Two  hours  later,  Hannah  Ward  stepped  into  the  dark  still 
kitchen,  bringing  with  her  through  the  opened  door  a  gush  of 
chill  outer  air. 

"  What !  the  candle  out  ?  and  the  fire  gone,  too  ?  Why, 
Reuben,  are  you  asleep  ?  "  and  she  groped  along  to  his  side,  and 
laid  her  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  form  dimly  outlined  against 
the  faint  glow  of  the  dying  embers. 

With  a  shake,  and  a  "  Come,  wake  up ! "  she  groped  about 
for  another  candle  on  the  mantel-shelf,  raked  up  a  coal  from  the 
ashes,  and,  lighting  it,  placed  it  upon  the  table. 

"  Got  asleep  writing,  hey  ? "  exclaimed  the  spinster  as  she 
saw  the  open  writing-case  and  the  letter.  "  Come,  Reuben, 
wake  up  ! "  Then  her  eye  fell  upon  the  open  paper  on  the  floor. 
Stooping,  she  picked  it  up,  and  held  it  nearer  the  candle  with 
curious  eye. 

"  Ha  !  what  is  this  ?  A  will !  Jest  as  I  thought !  "  she 
muttered,  a  quick  gleam  of  anger  flushing  her  sharp  face  and 
darting  from  her  black  eyes.  "  Jest  as  I've  thought,  all  along. 
I  wish  I  could  burn  it !  "  and  her  form  trembled  with  passion. 


PEACE  :  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  127 

"This  comes  of  taking  that  good-for-nothing  Mary  Halpine's 
brat  to "  bring  .up  ! "  Quivering  with  anger,  she  dropped  the 
paper;  then,  bending  over  Reuben,  laid  her  hand  heavily  on 
his  shoulder.  He  stirred  not :  and  with  an  amazed  "  Well,  I 
never  !  "  she  lifted  up  his  bowed  head. 

But  what  was  there  in  that  upturned  white  face  of  the  head 
resting  heavily  against  the  high-backed  chair  —  that  face,  so 
ghastly  in  the  gleaming  candle-light  —  or  the  contact  of  the 
nerveless,  cold,  pallid  hand  which  fell  by  his  side  and  touched 
hers  —  to  chill  Hannah  Ward's  heart  with  terror,  and  cause  her 
to  stagger  back  against  the  wall  for  support  ? 

She  was  alone  with  a  terrible  guest  —  a  Presence,  which, 
unheralded,  unattended,  had  crossed  the  threshold  of  that  hum- 
ble kitchen,  and  sat  down  quietly  and  sternly  at  the  hearthstone 
—  even  Death ! 

Then,  in  that  hour,  alone  with  the  dead,  a  terrible  temptation 
passed  athwart  the  brain  of  that  hard,  cold-hearted,  avaricious 
woman ;  nor  was  the  terror  which  chilled,  her  heart,  and  made 
her  teeth  chatter,  her  lips  livid,  and  her  skinny  hands  to  tremble, 
sufficient  to  hold  her  aloof  from  the  committal  of  a  great  sin. 

With  pale  guilty  face,  and  hands  almost  cold  as  the  dead,  she 
bent  down  and  clutched  the  paper ;  rapidly  thrust  it  into  her 
bosom  glaring  over  her  shoulder  with  straining  eyeballs,  mur- 
muring exultingly,  "  Nobody  sees  me  !  It  is  mine  now  ! " 

Then,  with  a  sudden  shudder  and  a  glance  of  terror  at  the 
dead  man,  she  shut  the  writing-case  and  carried  it  to  its  station 
on  the  old  chest  of  drawers,  caught  up  her  hood  and  rushed 
toward  the  door.  On  the  threshold  she  met  Chip. 

"  Hurry !  Go  over  to  Mr.  Sanders  !  "  she  exclaimed,  wildly 
clutching  at  his  arm.  "Run  quick,  Chip!  —  Bring  the  neigh- 
bors !  —  Reuben  is  dead  ! " 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

What  is  man's  love  ?     His  vows  are  broke, 
Even  while  his  parting  kiss  ^s  warm  ;  — 

But  woman's  love  all  change  will  mock, 

And  like  the  ivy  round  the  oak, 
Cling  closest  in  the  storm. 


HALLECK. 


What  though  the  world  has  whispered  thee  "  Beware  ! " 
Thou  dost  not  dream  of  change. 

MORRIS. 

JULIE  REVERE  sat  at  midnight  in  the  mansion  where,  fifteen 
years  before,  she  had  been  installed  as  wife.  It  was  an  elegant 
establishment  whither  her  husband  had  brought  her  after  their 
three  months'  tour  abroad.  Everything  which  art  and  luxury 
could  combine  —  statues  embodying  the  sculptor's  dreams  of 
grace,  pictures  into  which  painters  had  wrought  the  beautiful 
conceptions  of  their  lives,  rare  antique  transparent  vases,  tables 
of  inlaid  mosaic  strewn  with  costly  bijouterie,  couches  and  hang- 
ings of  velvet,  carpets  from  eastern  looms  whose  grouped  flowers 
seemed  to  rival  Nature's  —  all  these  were  gathered  into  her  apart- 
ments, making  such  beautiful  surroundings  as  would  gladden  an 
Artist's  eye,  and  transform  the  poorest  life  into  a  dream  of  poesy 
and  beauty. 

But  the  mistress  of  this  elegant  mansion,  with  her  dark,  rich, 
Southern  beauty  —  the  curl  of  her  short  dainty  upper  lip  like  a 
rolled  up  crimson  rose-leaf,  the  fire  in  her  dark  dreamy  eye 
brighter  than  the  flash  of  jewels  gleaming  on  her  person,  — 
above  all,  the  impetuous  throb  jof  her  loving  woman  heart  - — 

(128) 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        129 

was  she  as  happy  as  when,  at  eighteen,  she  had  stood  in  the 
drawing-room  of  Magnolia  Grove  House,  a  bride  ?  Had  her 
dreams  been  realized  ? 

Alas,  no  !  no !  What  woman  who  makes  an  idol,  but,  waking, 
weeps  to  find  it  clay?  Who  worships  blindly,  passionately, 
remembering  not  the  command  "  Have  ye  no  other  gods  before 
me  !  "  but,  ere  long,  is  smitten  down  to  dust  ?  Such  wild,  mad 
loves  exhaust  the  heart,  or  leave  it  a  prey  to  its  own  consuming 
feelings :  red  hot  coals  are  they,  that,  dying,  leave  charred  and 
blackened  ashes. 

No !  spite  of  her  splendor  —  the  sumptuousness  of  her  fetes 
—  the  richness  of  her  equipage  —  and  the  costliness  of  her 
apparel  —  it  was  a  weary  life  that  Julie  Revere  led.  If  the 
slight  lines  traced  across  her  low  pensive  forehead,  the  anxious 
troubled  light  which  had  crept  into  her  dark  eyes,  the  expression 
of  unrest  quivering  among  the  curves  of  her  red  lips,  and  the 
indefinable  nervous  watchfulness  which  pervaded  her  whole 
demeanor  —  if  these  were  the  criterions,  then  indeed  she  was 
not  happy. 

It  was  late  at  night ;  and  the  waxen  tapers  in  the  silver  can- 
dlesticks on  the  toilet  had  burned  low.  Julie  was  in  her  dress- 
ing-room. Minnie,  the  faithful  slave  girl  who,  with  Jupiter,  had 
followed  the  fortunes  of  her  mistress,  had  been  dismissed ;  and 
Mrs.  Revere  sat  alone.  She  was  in  full  dress,  for  she  had  that 
en  ning  entertained  a  party  of  her  gay  and  fashionable  friends 
in  the  splendid  saloons  below ;  and  as  she  swayed  herself  to  and 
fro  in  a  low  cushioned  chair,  the  faint  glow  of  the  tapers  struck 
a  hundred  shivered  rays  from  the  diamonds  on  her  silken  velvet 
robe.  Bandeaux  of  diamonds  also  broke  up  the  midnight  of  her 
hair  ;  and  the  face  which  ever  and  anon  anxiously  turned  to  the 
hands  of  a  tiny  French  clock  on  the  mantel,  looked  pale,  hollow, 
almost  sad,  in  the  ghostly  waning  light. 


130  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

And  she  was  sad  then ;  aye,  miserable ;  for  she  sat  in  utter 
loneliness,  awaiting  the  return  of  him  who  had  not  been  beside 
her  that  night  as  she  received  her  guests,  who  seldom  accom- 
panied his  wife  into  the  saloons  of  others,  who  was  rarely  at  her 
side  at  church,  concert,  promenade  or  ball,  in -social  or  domestic 
life. 

This  was  not  the  first  time  that  Julie  Revere  had  awaited 
until  midnight  —  until  the  gray  morning  dawned,  even — for 
her  husband's  return.  It  was  a  lonely,  joyles"s  life  she  led  —  a 
constant  struggle  to  be  gay  with  the  gayest,  happy  with  the  hap- 
piest —  to  subdue  that  hungering  cry  of  her  heart ;  for  how  had 
she  lived  all  those  long  years,  without  realizing  that  upon  her 
had  fallen  that  bitter  desolation  —  that  woe,  than  which  no  true 
woman  would  not  rather  die  than  experience  —  the  lot  of  an  un- 
loved wife  ? 

The  lives  of  such  are  sere,  barren,  arid  wastes  —  deserts 
wherein  no  oases  bloom,  no  springs  of  cooling  water  gush,  no 
feathery  graceful  palm-trees  fling  down  their  grateful  shade ; 
yet  how  many  who  smile  amid  their  -desolation,  teaching  the  eye 
to  sparkle,  the  cheek  to  bloom,  the  voice  to  swell  in  song  and 
echo  musically  in  the  laugh  —  giving  the  world  no  token  how 
the  heart  is  withering  the  while. 

Grief  and  neglect  kill  slowly  ;  the  heart  can  bear  much  ere  it 
breaks ;  and  a  loving  woman  will  forgive  injuries,  and  bury  the 
thorns  of  disappointment  though  they  rankle  to  the  spirit's  core. 
So  did  poor  Julie  Revere. 

But  hours  of  neglect  and  coldness  were  fast  doing  their  work 
upon  her.  Not  outwardly  alone,  for  the  lines  on  her  forehead 
were  faint  compared  with  the  furrows  in  her  heart  whence  the 
plough  of  Despair  had  uprooted  every  green  and  pleasant  thing. 
At  tunes  she  was  capricious,  petulant,  almost  insane ;  then  the 
mood  changed,  and  she  would  have  humbled  herself  to  dust  for  a 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        131 

caress  or  love-word.  The  proud,  defiant,  agonized  woman  — 
the  weak,  loving  girl  —  each  by  turn  held  sway.  And  still 
treading  his  own  mad  downward  way,  looking  with  cold  scorn  or 
with  intervals  of  fitful  tenderness  on  this  poor  suffering  woman 
whose  only  weakness  lay  in  loving  too  strongly  an  unworthy 
object,  went  Augustus  Revere. 

It  was  a  May  night,  cold  for  the  season ;  heavy  clouds  brood- 
ing in  the  sky,  completely  shut  out  the  stars ;  and  as  Julie 
Revere  sat  in  the  midnight  silence,  she  heard  the  patter  of  rain- 
drops on  the  leaves  of  the  vine  at  her  window.  Throwing  up 
the  sash,  she  leaned  out  to  cool  her  heated  throbbing  head. 
Long  ago  every  footfall  had  died  out  from  the  streets ;  and  if 
the  slightest  noise  broke  the  silence  —  the  quick  tread  of  some 
belated  traveller  hastening  homeward,  or  the  watchman  on  his 
rounds  —  she  leaned  eagerly  forward,  listened  anxiously  till  the 
echoes  died  in  the  distance,  then  with  weariness  and  disappoint- 
ment, *sank  back. 

At  last  a  hurried  step  came  on  the  pavement,  ascended  the 
flight  of  marble  steps,  the  click  of  a  night-key  was  heard^in  the 
lock,  and  Mr.  Revere  entered  the  hall  and  went  up  to  his  wife's 
chamber.  The  watcher  gave  a  long  drawn  sigh  of  relief,  with- 
drew her  white  jewelled  hands  from  their  nervous  clasp,  and 
leaned  slightly  forward  in  an  expectant  attitude  —  a  rich  bloom 
breaking  over  her  cheek. 

Entering  the  room  hurriedly,  Revere's  face  was  flushed ;  and 
his  hair,  still  beautiful,  and  in  thick  curling  masses  unstreaked 
with  gray,  was  tossed  in  disorder  over  his  head.  Fifteen  years 
had  left  something  of  their  impress  on  his  face  and  form.  His 
features  had  lost  much  of  their  delicacy  ;  his  fine  elegant  figure 
had  approached  almost  to  corpulency ;  and  yet  the  general  ex- 
pression of  his  firm  full  lips  and  cold  steel  blue  eyes,  was  little 
changed. 


132  PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

Approaching  his  wife  with  a  careless  "  What !  up  yet,  Jule  ?  " 
he  kissed  her. 

Julie  recoiled  slightly  from  the  contact  of  those  lips  whereon 
lingered  the  nauseating  fumes  of  wine  and  tobacco ;  but  she  re- 
plied, "  Yes,  Augustus,  I  have  been  expecting  you  for  an  hour 
past."  ,, 

Mr.  Revere  was  not  intoxicated.  Wine  never  affected  him  to 
drunkenness  or  imbecility.  On  the  contrary,  it  seemed  to 
sharpen  his  faculties  to  acuteness ;  therefore  it  had  not  escaped 
him  that  Julie  shrank  from  him.  His  brow  darkened. 

"  Well,  it  seems  that  even  my  return,  at  this  late  hour,  is  not 
welcome  ! "  he  exclaimed  with  an  oath.  "  Jule,  what  the  devil 
ails  you  ?  You're  cold  as  an  iceberg !  " 

For  a  moment  the  warm  Southern  blood  of  the  proud  woman 
was  up  in  her  cheek,  and  an  angry  retort  trembled  on  her  lips  ; 
but  she  did  not  utter  it.  Nervous,  weak,  weary  with  the  even- 
ing's excitement,  her  watching,  and  his  unkindness,  she  burst 
into  tears. 

Revere  saw  that  he  had  gone  too  far ;  and  he  had  a  purpose 
to  accomplish  that  night  which  would  not  permit  him  to  injure 
her  feelings  past  forgiveness ;  so  he  pushed  a  low  ottoman  tow- 
ards his  wife,  and  seating  himself  on  it  rested  his  head  in  her 
lap,  saying  soothingly : 

"  There,  there,  Jule,  don't  cry  !  I  didn't  mean  anything ;  but 
it  does  vex  me  to  come  home  late  nights,  and  find  you  ahvays 
up  watching,  pale  as  a  ghost.  But  kiss  me,  Jule  —  let  us  not 
quarrel !  I'm  confounded  tired,  and  half-sick  to-night." 

Julie  Revere's  dark  eyes  swam  in  tears ;  but  she  crushed 
them  back  with  the  strong  impulse  of  her  forgiving  love,  and 
bent  her  head  down  to  his,  kissing  his  white  forehead  again  and 
again,  threading  her  fingers  through  his  thick  curls.  Bitter 
thoughts  had  been  in  her  heart ;  often,  as  she  sat  alone  in  her 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        133 

desolation,  the  pride  of  her  nature  whispered,  "  Why  do  you 
love  him  so  ?  He  is  unworthy  ! "  But  now,  in  the  caresses  she 
lavished  on  him,  her  woman's  heart  was  the  prompter.  It  was 
seldom  of  late  that  her  husband  had  shown  any  symptom  of  ten- 
derness—  so  seldom,  that,  when  such  came,  she  drank  them 
eagerly  as  desert  travellers  quaff  the  few  precious  drops  bub- 
bling up  from  the  sand-spring.  And  so  before  the  words  he  had 
that  night  uttered  her  pride  had  all  melted  ;  and  she  bent  over 
him,  kissing  his  forehead,  murmuring  "  My  dear  Augustus ! 
Love  me,  only  love  me  ! " 

To  say  that  she  had  been  the  wife  of  such  a  man  as  Augustus 
Revere  for  fifteen  years  without  a  knowledge  of  the  life  he  led, 
would  not  be  credible.  That  life  had  been  the  legitimate  result 
of  his  youth.  When,  during  the  first  years  of  the  mercantile 
life,  upon  which,  with  the  assistance  of  a  liberal  investment  of 
her  fortune  inherited  at  her  father's  death  shortly  after  her  mar- 
riage, he  embarked  —  when  he  often  absented  himself  from  her 
on  the  plea  of  detention  at  his  counting-room,  Julie  readily  ex- 
cused him.  Afterwards,  on  pretence  of  being  engaged  for  the 
firm  in  extensive  cotton  speculations,  he  paid  long  visits  to 
Southern  cities  —  writing  thence  repeatedly  for  loans  and  drafts 
on  her  banker,  which  she  never  refused ;  nor  then,  did  the  trust- 
ing woman  once  suspect  how  the  passion  of  Gaming  was  obtain- 
ing complete  ascendency  over  her  husband. 

But  latterly,  when  he  seldom  sought  his  home  until  the  mid- 
night hour  was  past,  and  then  came,  flushed  and  heated  with 
wine,  demanding  money  in  harsh,  irritable  tones  —  when,  in  his 
fitful  slumbers,  he  babbled  of  cards  and  dice,  winnings  and 
losses,  —  how  then  could  poor  Julie  Revere  fail  to  realize  the 
degrading  truth  that  she  was  the  wife  of  a  gambler  ? 

Ah,  she  learned  what  almost  broke  her  heart !  but  even  then, 
her  wifely  devotion  did  not  fail.  No  means  were  untried  to  win 

12 


134=        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

the  deluded  man  from  his  ways.  Faithful  expostulations,  plead- 
ings, large  loans  to  meet  daily-recurring  embarrassments,  were 
all  of  no  avail.  Even  remonstrances  failed  ;  answered  only  with 
reproaches,  or  days  of  absence  and  silent  scorn  —  until,  sinking 
under  his  coldness  and  neglect,  she  forbore  them. 

Sometimes,  indeed  —  as  for  weeks,  when  Revere's  winnings 
were  great,  and  mercantile  affairs  went  on  smoothly  —  their  life 
was  calm ;  and  if  he  was  not  profuse  in  his  old-time  lover  dem- 
onstrations, at  least  he  was  not  unkind,  —  and  with  an  outward 
show  of  attention  accompanied  his  wife  into  society,  where  his 
still  elegant  person  and  the  polished  manners  he  knew  so  well 
how  to  assume  rendered  him  a  favorite ;  but  there  were  darker 
hours,  when,  maddened'  by  losses,  his  demands  for  money  became 
violent  and  imperious  —  and  then  again  she  yielded. 

Thus  this  proud  impetuous  woman,  with  her  haughty  Southern 
blood  —  the  mistress  of  a  splendid  household  —  queen  of  the 
world  of  Fashion,  where  her  example  was  patterned,  her  smile 
coveted,  and  her  nod  treasured  —  whose  rare  beauty  enslaved 
others  abroad  —  in  her  own  home,  was  a  very  slave  to  the  fasci- 
nation of  a  love  she  hugged  tighter  to  her  heart ;  and  literally 
purchased  the  favor  and  attentions  of  her  own  husband  with 
her  fortune. 

But  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  will  bear  it !  I  might  have  let 
him  go  his  downward  way  alone  —  I  might  have  saved  my  for- 
tune ;  but  it  was  my  pride  to  uphold  him  in  his  business  rela- 
tions with  men  —  to  make  him  master  of  a  splendid  home.  And 
the  world  shall  never  know  what  return  he  has  rendered  me ; 
they  shall  never  gloat  over  my  anguish,  and  say,  '  Behold !  an 
unloved,  neglected  wife  ! '  I  can  bear  his  scorn  —  but  no  mock- 
ing pity  !  I  will  give  festivals  where  rich  and  proud  women 
shall  envy  me !  —  they  shall  envy  me  him,  even !  I  will  so 
cover  his  every  error  that,  to  the  eyes  of  the  world,  he  shall 


PEACE  :     OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  135 

-never  be  humbled.  This,  for  a  time,  until  the  last  dollar  of  my 
fortune  has  melted  —  for  I  cannot  resign  his  love  while  I  have 
the  means  of  securing  it  —  this,  for  a  time,  until  the  crash  comes 
and  we  sink  together,  and  then  —  " 

Ah  yes !  That  was  the  sad  refrain  to  all  her  heart-cries, 
«  WJiat  then  ?  " 

It  was  a  fatal  stream  on  which  Julie  Revere  had  embarked, 
and  she  was  powerless.  Sometimes  softest  skies  glassed  them- 
selves in  waters  on  whose  surface  floated  the  rich  blooming  lotus- 
flowers  of  Youth,  Pleasure  and  Love  —  and  the  voyager's  fair 
white  hands  were  outstretched  to  grasp  them.  Alas,  that  they 
withered  in  her  touch !  But  oftenest,  thunder-clouds  hung  aloft, 
and  storms  fell  unpityingly  —  and  the  waves  surged  and  boiled 
under  her  slight  barque  —  and  then  came  to  her  ears  the  roar  of 
a  deep  dark  cataract  below.  Sometimes  Hope  took  the  helm,  and 
leaning  forward,  pierced  the  gloom  with  eagle  vision,  pointing  to 
sunny  skies  and  a  pleasant  shore  beyond  the  wreck ;  but  often- 
est, dark,  grim,  sullen  Despair  sat  at  the  prow,  pointing  down- 
ward, to  the  rushing  fall.  And  so  the  boat  drifted  on.  Already 
she  felt  the  wilder  rocking  and  swaying  of  the  waves  —  already 
she  saw  the  seething,  boiling  foam  —  the  glassy  brink  over  which 
she  must  glide ;  and  the  thunder-roar  of  the  broken  torrent 
echoed  up  from  below. 

They  were  on  the  verge  of  the  fall !  For,  that  night,  Julie 
Revere  had  given  her  last  festival ;  the  last  eagle  of  her  once 
princely  fortune  had  been  expended ;  heavy  mortgages  lay  on 
her  house,  furniture,  plate,  and  equipage  ;  her  splendid  wardrobe 
and  jewels,  it  is  true,  were  yet  untouched  —  but,  as  the  misera- 
ble woman  bent  over  the  flushed  face  which  lay  on  her  lap,  she 
knew  that  once  again  her  husband  had  left  the  gaming  table  a 
loser,  and  was  prepared  to  sacrifice  these,  her  last  available  re- 
source, for  him.  No  wonder  that  she  pleaded  in  a  sad,  heart- 
hungry  tone,  "  O,  love  me !  only  love  me  !  " 


136        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

And  with  this  insight  into  her  character,  do  you  wonder, 
reader,  that  when  that  night  he  laid  his  head  in  her  lap  and  re- 
counted the  old  story  of  his  losses  —  when,  with  his  fascinating 
smile  and  honeyed  persuasive  words,  he  put  his  arm  about  her 
neck  and  drew  her  lips  to  his,  whispering  "  Only  this  once,  dear 
Jule  —  only  this  time  !  I  know  I  shall  be  successful  and  retrieve 
my  ill  luck  ;  and  then,  I  will  have  done  with  this  life  forever ! " 
do  you  wonder  that,  burying  her  face  in  his  luxuriant  curls,  she 
burst  into  tears,  saying,  —  "  Thank  God,  Augustus,  that  this  life 
is  coming  to  an  end  at  last !  It  is  killing  me  !  Everything  has 
gone  —  everything  but  my  diamonds  —  take  them  !  Let  this  be 
your  last  visit  to  the  play-house  ! " 


CHAPTER    XV. 

She  stood  a  moment  as  a  Pythoness 

Stands  on  her  tripod,  agonized,  and  full 
Of  inspiration  gathered  from  distress, 

When  all  the  heart-strings  like  wild  horses  pull 

The  heart  asunder. 

BYRON. 

JULIE  REVERE  sat  with  hushed  breath,  for  her  husband  had 
fallen  asleep  with  his  head  lying  in  her  lap. 

In  that  hour  every  womanly  feeling  of  tenderness  and  softness 
swayed  her ;  and  she  scarce  dared  to  stir,  lest  change  of  position 
should  break  his  slumber  —  quite  forgetful  of  her  own  previous 
hours  of  excitement  and  watching,  and  consequent  need  of  rest. 
Every  now  and  then  she  bent  tenderly  over  him,  gazing  on  his 
upturned  face,  and  letting  her  soft  white  hands  wander  caress- 
ingly and  soothingly  over  his  temples.  His  hair  in  thick  curling 
masses  lay  outspread  over  the  folds  of  her  rich  dress  ;  his  breath 
was  heavy  and  damp  with  the  fumes  of  wine ;  and  a  deep  crim- 
son flush  upon  his  cheeks  and  lips  told  what  poison-tide  ran  cir- 
cling in  his  veins ;  and  as  Julie  noted  the  Upas  foot-prints  of  dis- 
sipation on  a  face  whose  every  feature  had  once  been  the  model 
of  proud  beauty,  quick  rushing  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  and 
dropped  silently -among  his  brown  curls. 

It  was  a  sad,  weary  night-vigil,  that  woman  kept  over  him  on 
whom  she  had  wasted  the  best  treasures  of  her  heart ;  and  a 
gloom  deeper  than  that  which  shrouded  the  earth  without  settled 
down  on  her  spirit.  She  wept  silently.  Upon  the  earth  a  morn- 
ing would  sometime  break  —  the  rain  dropping  down  on  the 
12* 


138        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

vine-leaves  at  her  window  would  cease ;  but  when  would  the 
chill  rain  of  neglect  cease  its  pitiless  peltings  on  her  bleeding 
heart,  and  the  dawn  break,  for  her  ? 

How  many  other  hearts  have  wasted  their  treasures  utterly ! 
Rich  freighted  argosies,  they  sailed  forth  on  sunny  seas ;  but  the 
chill  winds  blew  out  of  gathering  clouds  —  in  mid-ocean  they 
foundered  on  the  jagged  rocks  of  injury  or  neglect,  and  drifted 
astray,  wrecked  and  rudderless,  or  sank  down  to  deepest  caves 
of  forgetfulness,  "  unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung !  " 

There  is  no  security  for  the  earthly  affections.  At  the  altar 
•  we  vow  to  "  love,  honor,  and  obey."  Alas,  that  words  spoken 
so  solemnly  should  be  regarded  so  lightly  !  Then  come  years, 
when  bright  eyes  grow  dim  with  weeping  —  delicate  frames 
shiver  in  the  frosty  airs  of  neglect  and  scorn  —  and  thick  gray 
ashes  drop  down  on  the  hearth-stones  of  our  hearts. .  And  then 
such  weary,  weary  years,  dragging  their  slow  circles  into  eter- 
nity !  No  hope  that  from  those  dead  ashes  can  be  rekindled  the 
vivifyiag  fire  of  answering  love !  No  hope  that  from  out  the 
thickening  folds  of  despair  one  ray  can  gild  our  gloom ! 

But  in  such  hours,  when  all  of  earthly  loves  fail  us  —  when 
the  voice  of  Hope,  the  sweet  singer,  is  heard  no  more  —  when 
the  heart  sinks,  and  the  decay  of  our  affections  falls  chillingly  on 
the  spirit  —  when  for  us  there  is  neither  love,  or  hope,  nor  any 
other  joy,  and  we  only  hear  the  toll  of  their  death-bells  —  then, 
oh  then,  if  there  is  One  arm  reached  down  to  help  us,  One  eye 
to  look  down  lovingly,  One  heart  that  will  never  thrust  us  out  — 
that  arm,  that  eye,  that  heart,  the  All-Merciful's  —  how  blessed 
are  we  still ! 

But  of  this  Helper,  Julie  Revere  had  no  experience.  She 
who  had  set  up  an  idol  between  herself  and  her  Maker,  could 
not  see  the  Divine  for  the  human ;  and  now,  when  the  shrine 
was  crumbling  and  the  idol  tottering,  her  gaze  followed  it  down, 


PEACE  I  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  139 

down,  to  the  dust.  It  must  be  trampled,  broken,  and  her  heart 
purified  from  its  unholy  worship,  ere  she  could  grow  purer  or 
happier. 

For  two  long  hours  the  sleeper  lay  with  his  head  tossing  to 
and  fro  in  an  uneasy  slumber.  Spite  of  the  gentle  pressure  of 
Julie's  fingers  on  his  throbbing  temples,  she  could  not  magnetize 
him  into  calmness ;  spite  of  the  silken  cushions  she  gathered  up 
from  a  couch  near  by  and  heaped  beneath  his  head,  he  constant- 
ly changed  his  position  and  his  sleep  grew  more  disturbed  and 
fitful.  The  glow  on  his  cheeks  became  red  as  the  flush  of  fever, 
his  respirations  came  and  went  audibly,  and  deep  lines  corru- 
gated his  forehead  which  Julie  vainly  tried  to  smooth  out  with 
her  delicate  fingers.  But  though  he  tossed  to  and  fro  uneasily 
and  dreams  ran  riot  in  his  brain,  he  did  not  waken.  His  slum- 
ber seemed  to  grow  more  heavy  in  its  very  fitfulness. 

Presently  he  tossed  his  hands  aloft  with  violent  gesticulations 
and  uttered  broken  sentences. 

"  Six  thousand  !  it  is  too  much !  —  you  shall  not  have  it !  — 
Golding,  you  shall  not  have  it  —  go  away  !  Money  !  —  money ! 
— you  want  money!  Well,  Jule  will  give  it  to  us! — Jule  — 
yes,  she  has  thousands  —  gold  and  diamonds !  But  don't  tell  her 
she  is  not  my  wife  !  —  Ah,  SHE  comes  !  —  she  stands  before  me  ! 
—  Mary  Halpine,  go  away  with  your  haunting  eyes  ! "  and  he 
flung  up  his  pale  hands,  wildly  beating  the  air. 

Every  word  fell  thrillingly  on  the  listener's  heart.  She  me- 
chanically repeated  them  —  "  '  Is  not  my  wife  !  Mary  Halpine  ! ' 
What  can  he  mean  ?  "  then  .groaning  bitterly  —  "  '  Money  — 
you  want  money ! '  Yes,  and  Jule  will  give  it  to  us ! '  Oh, 
Hugh  Golding,  you  are  the  lure,  then,  to  his  rum?  You  dog 
his  steps,  and  drag  him  to  these  vile  haunts  ?  With  your  com- 
ing, come  also  his  darkest  moods.  I  see  it  now.  It  was  for 
that,  he  begged  my  diamonds.  Well,  let  them  go ! "  she  added 


140  PEACE:   OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

proudly.  "You  have  won  my  jewels  —  but  you  failed  in  win- 
ning my  heart.  With  all  his  weaknesses,  this  poor  dreamer," 
and  she  laid  "her  hand  tenderly  on  Revere's  forehead,  "  has  the 
virtue  you  never  boasted,  my  libertine  cousin  ?  " 

Alas  for  woman's  faith !  Alas  .for  thee,  poor  Julie  Revere, 
—  when  the  awakening  comes  ! 

Still  Revere's  sleep  was  troubled,  still  he  tossed  about  un- 
easily, though  nothing  more  escaped  his  lips ;  and  Julie  bathed 
his  forehead  in  perfumed  water  from  an  elegant  cut  glass  toilet 
bottle,  gently  unloosed  his  neck  tie  and  unbuttoned  .his  velvet 
vest,  for  his  breathing  seemed  labored,  then  stirred  the  fragrant 
air  of  the  luxurious  dressing-room  with  her  jewelled  ivory  fan-. 
In  loosening  his  vest,  the  elegant  cashmere  dressing  gown  fell 
back ;  and,  protruding  from  a  side  pocket,  the  corner  of  a  folded 
paper  met  Julie's  eye.  What  was  it?  Some  note  for  "debts 
of  honor  "  contracted  that  evening  ?  She  felt  almost  sure  it  was 
such  —  she  must  see  it  ?  Perhaps  to  meet  this,  he  had  begged 
her  diamonds !  Heart-sick  and  shuddering,  she  said,  bitterly : 
"  Yes,  I  have  a  right  to  know  this  ! "  and  drew  forth  the  paper. 
As  her  fingers  unfolded  it,  she  saw  her  mistake.  A  torn  en- 
velope fluttered  down  to  the  carpet ;  it  was  a  letter  —  and  she 
would  have  returned  it,  had  not  her  eye  caught  her  own  name 
and  Golding's  signature ;  then,  ere  she  fully  comprehended  the 
act,  with  one  lightning  glance  she  had  taken  in  the. whole. 

"TBEMONT  HOUSE,  Boston,  May  12th,  184-. 
"  DEAK  Gus : 

"  Has  Julie  come  down  with  the  diamonds  yet  ?  I  hope  so, 
for  I'm  in  a  devilish  tight  box  here  —  bad  luck  ever  since  I've 
been  in  this  old  Puritan  city  —  scarcely  spotted  enough  to  meet 
my  hotel  bills.  Shall  set  my  face  Gothamward  in  three  days 
at  farthest. 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        141 

"  Thought  I'd  drop  a  line,  that  you  might  have  no  excuse 
about  not  being  in  readiness  with  the  money,  as  I  go,  on  to 
Phila.,  Saturday  next,  and  don't  want  to  be  detained  in  New 
York  longer  than  necessary  for  our  interview,  so  meet  me  at 
Delmonte's  on  the  arrival  of  the  Friday  evening  train,  with  the 
needful." 

"  By  the  way,  since  I  left  you,  I've  been  troubled  with  some 
few  conscientious  qualms  because  I  compromised  the  affair  so 
cheaply.  Six  thousand  only,  for  a  paper  that  would  have  lodged 
you  in  Sing  Sing  !  —  for,  Revere,  you  know  that,  in  plain  Eng- 
lish, you  are  a  bigamist,  and  I  could  have  proved  it  in  any  court 
in  the  land. 

"  But  a  bargain's  a  bargain.  Meet  me  with  the  money,  and 
I'll  deliver  up  to  you  the  marriage  certificate ;  and  Julie  will 
never  know  that,  when  you  made  her  Mrs.  Revere,  you  were  the 
lawful  husband  of  little  Mary  Halpine. 

"  At  Delmonte's,  Friday  night.     Beware,  if  you  fail  me  ! 

"  Yours,  GOLDING." 

"  P.  S.  Have  just  had  a  call  from  Jasper,  who  saw  my  name 
among  the  '  arrivals,'  and  looked  in  upon  me  with  his  chum. 
All  right.  A  fine-looking  fellow  —  will  bear  off  College  honors, 
so  his  friend  says.  A  trifle  steadier  than  when  you  or  /were 
younger  —  he  is,  I  reckon. . 

«H.  G." 

Every  word  was  graven  on  Julie  Revere's  brain  as  with  a 
pen  of  fire ;  then  the  paper  dropped  from  the  cold  fingers  locked 
tightly  over  her  heart.  A  hue  of  marble  settled  on  every  rigid 
feature  ;  a  stony  gaze  grew  in  her  eyes  ;  and  for  a  moment  her 
teeth  gleamed  ghastly  white  through  the  parted  lips  that  closed 
over  them  firm  as  though  cut  from  iron.  On  her  forehead,  two 
swollen  veins  stood  out  like  knotted  purple  whip-cords,  then  the 


142  PEACE  :    OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

deep  violet  tide  faded,  and  rushed  back  to  congeal  upon  her 
heart,  leaving  her  pallid  as  the  dead.  She  did  not  speak  or 
groan,  for  her  breath  seemed  frozen,  her  form  petrified ;  but  that 
wild,  agonized  gleam  —  almost  of  insanity  —  looked  out  from 
her  midnight  eyes,  like  a  wounded  wild  beast  about  to  spring 
from  its  lair. 

The  sleeper's  head  lay  very  quiet  now  in  her  lap.  His  brown 
curls  almost  touched  the  hands  clasped  over  a  frozen  heart ; 
there  was  no  sound  in  that  chamber  —  not  the  throb  of  a  pulse, 
or  the  rustle  of  a  silken  curtain  —  only  the  faint  tick  of  the  tiny 
mantel  clock,  and  the  patter  of  the  dropping  rain  on  the  vine- 
leaves  ;  but  had  a  thunder-clap  broken  above,  it  could  not  have 
dissolved  the  icy  deadly  thrall  which  bound  Julie  Revere. 

But  at  length  the  thoughts  working  idly  in  the  dreamer's 
brain  grew  denser;  his  memory,  wandering  in  the  long  gone 
years,  gathered  about  a  face  long  dim ;  and  his  thoughts  shaped 
themselves  into  a  word,  which  he  uttered  as  his  head  turned 
uneasily  on  the  silken  curtain  and  his  thick  curls  fell  back 
against  the  hands  clasped  over  Julie's  marble  heart  —  "  Mary !  " 

The  spell  was  broken.  Julie  saw  it  all.  For  fifteen  years  — 
oh,  how  many  years  of  shame  !  —  had  she  been  that  man's  dupe ; 
—  for  how  could  she  know  that  the  poor  girl,  whose  name  he 
whispered  in  his  slumbers,  had  been  laid  to  rest  ere  the  bridal 
ring  was  on  her  white  finger,  or  the  bridal  kiss  had  touched  her 
coral  lips  ?  —  '  Mary  Halpine  ! '  She  saw  it  all  now.  And  he, 
for  whose  truth  she  could  have  staked  her  life  —  of  whom  she 
had  said  to  her  own  heart  — ' "  Despite  his  neglects  and  his  cold- 
ness, he  is  mine  —  all  mine  "  —  oh,  what  a  viper  she  had  nour- 
ished !  And  herself?  —  what  was  she  now  ?  what  had  she  been 
all  those  long,  long  years,  but  a  dishonored  woman  ? 

Oh,  it  was  terrible  !  She  went  almost  mad  with  anguish  — 
she  beat  her  forehead  with  her  clenched  hand  —  she  thrust  the 


PEACE  :  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  143 

head  upon  her  lap  to  the  sofa  close  by,  as  though  his  touch  were 
poison  —  then  rose  to  her  feet. 

Then  rapidly,  like  a  wounded  tigress,  she  paced  up  and  down 
the  apartment.  Furiously  tearing  off  her  jewels  —  the  neck- 
lace, which  rose  and  fell  with  every  heavy  respiration  from  her 
exquisitely  moulded  bust,  the  bracelets,  that,  wrought  into  twist- 
ed serpents,  seemed  to  evolve  lightning  from  their  glittering 
gemmed  scale?,  the  costly  watch  and  chatelaine  at  her  girdle  — 
and  going  to  the  toilet,  where,  imbededd  in  their  dainty  velvet- 
lined  caskets,  lay  silvery  pearls  flashing  and  pale,  blood-red 
rubies,  and  emeralds  of  the  richest  sea  green  —  she  gathered 
them  all  up  with  eager  clutching  hands,  dashed  them  down  on 
the  carpet,  trampled  them  madly  into  its  depths  till  their  fine 
gold  settings  were  indented  and  broken,  and  the  sharp  gems 
pierced  through  her  thin  satin  slippers,  wounding  her  feet. 

"  There !  "  she  cried,  her  eyes  luminous  with  terrible  anger, 
her  white  lips  curved  with  terrible  scorn.  "  There  they  lie  — 
the  jewels  that  tempted  you  !  They  won  you  —  miserable 
wretch  !  "  and  she  went  up  to  him  and  shook  his  shoulder,  hiss- 
ing her  words  into  his  ear  —  "•  They  won  you  —  take  them  !  — 
you  have  had  all  else  !  Soul  and  body  I  have  been  your  slave 
—  soul,  body,  and  fortune.  Oh,  why  did  you  not  come  to  me 
and  say,  '  It  is  your  gold  I  want  —  not  you  '  ?  "Why  did  you 
come  to  me  with  lies  on  your  lips  ?  Why  did  you  drag  me 
down  from  my  happy  girlhood  innocence,  from  my  father's  arms, 
to  misery  —  madness  —  moral  death?  Augustus  Revere,  God 
will  judge  you  for  that !  Do  you  hear  ?  If  there  be  a  God  in 
heaven,  he  will  judge  you  for  that  —  base  man,  devil,  fiend  !  " 

But  the  man  on  the  silken  sofa  slept  on*  Pitiable  sight ! 
Dead  to  her  maddened  words  —  unmoved  by  the  whirlwind  of 
passion  which  desolated  her  heart,  sweeping  away  tenderness, 
pity,  love,  on  its  stormy  track ;  still  he  slept  on.  His  slumber 


144        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

was  no  longer  broken  and  fitful ;  the  wine-flush  had  faded  from 
his  cheek,  leaving  him  pale  and  haggard ;  his  eyes  were  rimmed 
with  dark  circles ;  his  hands  fell  prone  down  the  side  of  the 
couch ;  and  his  breath  came  deep  and  regularly  with  every  long 
low  swell  of  his  lungs. 

Vainly  Julie  uttered  her  agonized  reproaches ;  vainly  her 
dainty  white  hands  shook  Revere's  shoulder  with  almost  giant 
strength  ;  vainly  she'trode  the  broken  gems  into  the  carpet ;  and 
a  curve  of  fine  scorn  seemed  chiselled  on  her  lips.  For  he  lay 
not,  as  she  imagined,  in  the  heavy  stupor  of  the  drunkard's  sleep. 
She  knew  not  how,  often  of  late,  and  every  night  since  his  inter- 
view with  Golding  and  its  terrible  revelation,  in  order  to  deaden 
his  brain  and  obtain  sleep  he  had  revived  a  long  forgone  habit. 
During  his  college  days,  in  common  with  a  set  of  idle  specula- 
tive classmates,  he  had  often  indulged  in  opium  reveries  ;  now, 
he  drugged  his  nightly  wines  for  a  narcotic ;  and  thus,  getting 
paler  and  stiller,  his  deadened  brain  lapsing  into  perfect  forget- 
fulness,  he  lay  under  its  influence. 

With  utter  contempt  and  loathing  Julie  spoke. 

"  Fool,  fool,  that  I  have  been  these  long  years  —  to  love,  aye, 
worship,  such  a  thing  as  this  !  "  and  she  struck  at  his  nerveless 
arm  with  her  jewelled  fan.  "  For  fifteen  years  to  worship  him 
—  to  bring  him  house,  home,  fortune,  everything !  literally  to 
faty  his  notice.  To  have  no  token  of  tenderness  —  not  even  the 
commonest  attentions  of  a  wife  from  her  husband,  save  I  bought 
them  with  my  gold !  For  fifteen  years  filling  a  place  such  as 
abandoned  women  fill  —  believing  myself  his  wife  —  ha,  ha  !  " 
and  she  laughed  such  a  wild  shrill  laugh  that  its  echo  startled 
her.  "  His  wife  —  ha,  ha  !  that  is  good  !  Here  I  stand,  while 
he  sleeps  his  beastly  drunken  sleep  —  that  is  good,  too ! 
Angel  —  man  —  devil !  Coming  here  from  his  drunken  revels, 
to  wheedle  my  last  gift  —  my  jewels  !  Yes,  he  shall  have  them 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        145 

—  every  one  of  them,"  and  she  stamped  her  bleeding  feet  again 
and  again  upon  the  crushed  gems  —  "  every  one  of  them  !  I 
wish  they  were  so  many  fiends  to  drag  his  soul  down  to  perdi- 
tion —  aye,  every  one  of  them  —  and  have  them,  with  my 
curse  !  " 

Still  Revere  slept,  every  long  low  respiration  beating  on  her 
heart  like  the  stroke  of  an  iron  hammer. 

"  Yes,  sleep  on ! "  she  cried  with  withering  scorn.  "  Men 
who  break  women's  hearts  can  afford  to  sleep  soundly  —  aye, 
sweetly,  too.  A  merry  pastime  is  it !  But  no  matter :  I  will 
touch  your  heart  yet ! "  and  going  to  her  writing-desk  she 
dashed  off  a  few  hasty  impetuous  lines,  threw  them  on  the 
carpet  beside  the  crumpled  letter  and  the  trampled  jewels  — 
snatched  up  a  silken  mantle  from  a  chair,  flung  open  the  door, 
and  fled  rapidly  down  the  staircase  and  out  into  the  dark  wet 
night  —  whither  ? 

13 


CHAPTER   XVI  . 

"  Go  now  —  the  lingering  curse  is  given, 
The  spell  is  laid  on  thee ; 
The  scorn  of  earth  —  the  wrath  of  heaven 
Is  in  thy  destiny." 

\ 
Oh !   that  my  heart  was  quiet  as  a  grave 

Asleep  in  moonlight ! 

ALEXANDER  SMITH. 

THE  gray  night-clouds  dissolved  in  gentle  rain;  and  as  the 
sun  rose  fair  and  bright  above  the  mighty  city,  the  hum  of 
awakened  life  grew  deeper,  louder,  in  the  crowded  man  —  swel- 
ling to  its  noontide  height,  then  declining  with  the  day ;  nor  was 
it  umtil  the  sun  neared  his  setting,  and  long  lines  of  golden  light' 
slanted  through  the  rosy  silken  curtains  of  the  luxurious  dress- 
ing-room where  he  lay,  tinging  the  perfumed  air  with  a  soft, 
glowing  haze  —  not  until  then,  did  Augustus  Revere  awake 
from  his  lethargic  sleep. 

All  day  long,  domestics  had  come  and  gone  through  the  silent 
rooms  of  the  mansion ;  Minnie  had  vainly  sought  her  mistress  — 
wondering  at  her  strange  absence,  the  broken  jewels  imbedded 
in  the  carpet,  and  still  more  at  her  master's  protracted  slumber 
which  resisted  all  attempts  of  rousing  him  therefrom. 

When  Revere  awoke,  a  physician  whom  he  recognized  bent 
above  him. 

Minnie  glided  cautiously  in,  shut  the  door  behind  her,  and 
went  to  the  sofa  where  the  bewildered  man  sat. 

"  "Where's  your  mistress  ?     Send  her  to  me  1 "   he  said  petu- 

(146) 


PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  147 

lantly.  "  She  was  here  when  I  went  to  sleep.  "What !  night, 
almost?  Can  I  have  slept  so  long?"  and  he  looked  in  per- 
plexed surprise  to  the  western  window. 

The  mulattress  placed  a  confused  mass  of  broken  jewelry  and 
two  written  papers  in  his  hand. 

"  Lord,  Massa  Revere,  'pears  like  something  dredful's  hap- 
pened. Missis  'nowhar  to  be  found ;  and  here's  her  diamonds, 
and  rings,  and  splendid  watch,  all  broke  into  bits  and  just  stamp- 
ed into  the  carpet.  'Pears  like  as  if  she's  gone  ravin'  'stracted. 
Here's  some  letters,  too,  I  found  'long  side  —  p'raps  Missis  says 
there,  where  she's  gone  to.  Do  read,  Massa ! "  And  the  terri- 
fied slave  crouched  down  at  his  feet. 

With  bewildered  gaze,  Revere  looked  at  the  broken,  scarred 
jewels ;  then  his  eye  fell  on  Golding's  letter.  In  an  instant  he 
comprehended  it  all.  With  a  groan  of  mingled  rage  and  de- 
spair, he  crumpled  it  in  his  clenched  hand;  then  ran  his  eye 
over  the  paper  whereon,  in  blotted,  heavy  pen  strokes,  as  if 
•written  under  the  maddest  excitement,  were  a  few  anguished 
words  in  Julie's  hand. 

"  Augustus  Revere,  a  dreadful  fire  is  in  my  heart !  It  burns 
—  it  burns  !  Your  hand  kindled  it.  May  God  forgive  you  —  I 
never  will !  One  hour  ago,  so  wholly  —  soul  and  body,  heart  and 
brain  —  was  I  your  slave,  I  would  have  lain  down  at  death's  door 
to  save  you  a  single  pang  —  now,  now,  I  am  about  tempted  to 
stop  forever  your  vile  heart's  throbbings !  I  might  kill  you 
where  you  lie  in  your  beastly  drunken  sleep — but  I  will  not! 
Live,  for  her  of  whom  you  have  babbled  in  your  sleep  — 
her,  who,  perchance,  had  not  the  gold  and  lands  for  which  you 
won  me  and  made  me  what  lam  —  a  mad,  ruined,  heart-broken 
woman !  Live,  to  know  how  I  scorn,  loathe,  aye,  hate  you ! 
And,  oh  God,  to  think  I  have  so  loved  you !  —  But  no  matter, 
the  world  is  wide  —  somewhere  must  there  be  room  for  this 


148  PEACE  I    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

wrung  heart,  this  .wild  brain.  Lest  I  do  you  harm,  I  go !  God 
forgive  you  —  I  cannot ! " 

"  What  is  it,  Massa  ?  "  asked  the  terror-stricken  woman  at  his 
feet,  watching  the  pallid  face,  dilated  straining  gaze,  and  trem- 
bling nerveless  hands  of  the  man  before  her.  "  Massa  Revere, 
for  de  Lord's  sake,  what  is  it  ?  Is  Missis  Julie  dead  ?  " 

"  Go  down,  slave  !  —  Have  done  with  your  infernal  talking ! " 
thundered  her  master,  stamping  his  foot  heavily  into  the  imbed- 
ded Cashmere  roses  of  the  carpet  —  his  eye  kindling,  and  his 
lips  livid  with  passion  or  fear  —  But  not  a  word  of  this  !  not  a 
word  of  these  letters  or  .these  jewels,  as  you  value  your  life! 
Do  you  hear  ?  "  and  he  grasped  her  shoulder  till  his  nails  sank 
through  her  attire  into  the  flesh.  "  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Massa  ! "  and  she  shrank  in  terror  and  pain  from  his 
iron  grasp. 

"  Then  leave  me  instantly ! " 

Affrighted  and  trembling,  the  slave  woman  shrank  away. 


Late  on  the  evening  of  the  ensuing  day,  Golding  entered  a 
private  saloon  at  Delmonte's  gambling  house.  For  a  half  hour 
he  impatiently  awaited  the  arrival  of  Revere ;  then  a  waiter 
tapped  at  the  door  and  put  a  note  into  his  hand. 

"  Golding :  —  I  am  confined  to  my  room  with  illness,  and  can- 
not meet  you  at  Delmonte's,  per  agreement.  Come  to  me. 

"  Yours,  REVERE." 

"  Well,  if  that's  all,  I'll  go.  I  knew  he  would  not  dare  play 
me  false ! "  and  Golding  went  out.  Walking  hastily  up  the 
business  portions  of  the  city,  he  soon  found  himself  above  the 
Battery  and  Park  in  a  quiet  and  aristocratic  quarter.  Ascend- 
ing the  steps  of  an  elegant  mansion,  a  ring  gained  him  imme- 
diate admittance. 


PEACE  :  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  149 

Revere  sat  in  the  library  where  their  last  interview  had  taken 
place  ;  and  looking  pale  and  haggard  stepped  forward  to  meet 
him. 

"  Sorry  to  find  you  ill,  my  boy  !  This  little  affair  hasn't  wor- 
ried you,  I  hope  ?  Perhaps  Jule  clung  to  the  diamonds  —  - 
women  do  love  baubles,  they  say  —  and  you  had  trouble  in  rais- 
ing the  money  ?  Am  sorry,  'pon  my  honor  j»but  here's  the  doc- 
ument !  "  —  and  Golding  drew  forth  the  marriage  certificate 
from  his  pocket-book. 

Revere's  face  was  pale  as  death,  but  a  lightning  gleam  glit- 
tered in  his  eyes,  and  an  iron  curve  settled  on  his  lips. 

"  Hugh*  Golding,"  —  and  as  he  spoke  he  stepped  to  the  door 
and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  transferring  it  to  his  own  pocket, 
and,  coming  back,  stood  side  by  side  with  his  visitor  —  "  Hugh 
Golding,  I  was  not  so  ill  but  I  could  have  met  you  to-night  ;  but 
I  wanted  you  here  —  here  in  my  own  house  —  in  my  own 
power  !  Do  you  hear  ?  —  in  my  own  power  !  Julie  knows  all  ! 
Last  night  your  letter  fell  into  her  hands  —  it  matters  not  how. 
Blame  your  own  cursed  stupidity  for  ever  writing  it  !  She  has 
gone  !  There  are  her  jewels  !  "  —  pointing  to  the  table  where 
in  a  gilt  card-receiver,  lay  a  flashing  heap  —  diamonds,  rubies, 
opals,  mingling-  their  sparkling  scintillations.  "  Look  at  them  — 
examine  them  —  their  settings  all  defaced,  broken,  trampled 
upon  by  her  angry  feet,  but  the  gems  uninjured  yet.  Still 
would  they  bring  me  thousands  ;  but,  mark  me,  not  one  dollar 
raised  from  their  sale  shall  ever  cross  your  palms.  For  that 
paper  you  hold  in  your  hand  must  be  mine  without  an  equiva- 


Golding  drew  back.  "  Never  !  "  he  said  fiwnly  through  his 
shut  teeth. 

"  Softly,"  replied  Revere  in  a  cool  hard  tone  as  though  secure 
of  his  position.  "We  are  alone  —  I  have  the  power!  By 

13* 


150  PEACE:   on  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

means  of  this  "  —  and  he  drew  a  revolver  —  "  will  I  compel  you ! 
And,  by  Heaven,  if  worst  comes  to  worst,  I  will  not  hesitate." 

"  Ha,  two  can  play  at  that  game,  I  reckon  ! "  Golding  thrust 
his  hand  into  his  breast  pocket.  But  a  hasty  oath  fell  from  his 
lips  —  his  face  grew  pale  —  his  hand  fell  nervously  to  his  side. 
He  was  unarmed !  In  hurriedly  changing*  his  coat  at  the  hotel 
before  proceeding  to  Delmonte's,  he  had  left  his  weapon. 

A  grim  smile  broke  the  iron  curve  on  Revere's  lips. 

"  I  was  prepared  for  this,  or  prepared  for  its  opposite.  It  is 
best  for  you  that  you  have  no  weapon  —  I  should  not  have  per- 
mitted its  use !  "  —  and  his  eye  darkened  and  his  hand  touched 
his  revolver  significantly.  "  Fifteen  years  under  your  thrall 
have  not  been  so  pleasant  but  I  desire  freedom.  This  last 
week's  misery  has  made  me  bold.  Resign  me  the  paper,  and 
you  leave  this  house  a  safe  man ;  refuse  it  — "  and  he  raised 
the  weapon. 

"You  dare  not  murder  me,!"  said  Golding  with  a  sickly 
smile,  and  an  attempt  at  careless  bravado. 

"  Dare  not  ?  "  echoed  Revere  scornfully.  "  You  do  not  know 
me.  I  am  a  desperate  man !  and  a  desperate  man  dares  any- 
thing !  The  paper  ! "  —  and  he  reached  forth  his  hand. 

To  resist  was  folly  —  madness.  Golding  saw  it.  He  yielded ; 
and  though  futile  rage  played  on  every  feature,  he  deposited  the 
paper  in  the  outstretched  hand. 

"  I  thank  you  —  I  am  your  debtor ! "  —  and  with  a  mocking 
bow,  Revere  took  the  key  from  his  pocket  and  unlocked  the 
door. 

On  the  threshold  Golding  paused.  A  gleam  of  hate  life  his 
eyes,  and  a  deaUly  smile  shot  athwart  his  lips. 

"  Yes,  you  are  my  debtor,  Augustus  Revere !  But  for  that 
paper  I  have  rendered  you  up  this  night  I  will  yet  have  ample 
recompense !  That  recompense  shall  be  in  my  revenge  !  There 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        151 

is  one  way  yet  —  through  your  boy  !  I  can  touch  your  heart  to 
the  quick  there  !  Go  to  him  — -  claim  him  now,  if  you  will  — 
but  I  will  have  been  there  before  you  !  " 

There  was  a  click  of  the  key  in  the  lock  after  Gelding's  de- 
parture ;  and  as  hour  after  hour  of  the  night  waned,  Augustus 
Revere  sat  with  pale  face  bowed  on  his  hands,  and  eyes  bent  fix- 
edly on  the  paper  before  him ;  then  rising,  he  locked  it  care- 
fully in  an  inner  drawer  of  his  escritoire,  and  went  back  to  his 
seat.  So  the  gray  dawn  found  him  —  his  eyes  still  shaded  by 
his  pallid  hands. 

Was  it  possible  that  those  were  tears  trickling  silently  through 
his  pale  fingers  ?  Had  that  iron  man  a  heart,  where,  in  some 
loiig-closed  secret  chamber,  had  been  lain  away,  unknowingly, 
some  tender  memory  of  the  injured  girl  who  long  years  before 
had  mouldered  back  to  dust?  Had  Remorse,  with  clutching 
fingers,  secured  him  for  her  prey  ? 


CHAPTER«XVII. 

Listen !  There's  shame,  and  hissing,  and  contempt,  and  none  but  laugh 
who  names  me ;  none  but  spits  measureless  scorn  upon  me  ! 

BROWNING. 

IN  his  room  at  C College,  among  a  party  of  convivial 

friends  and  class-mates,  where  wit  and  wine  flowed  freely,  and 
the  brilliant  coruscations  of  Jasper  Golding's  humor  flashed 
athwart  ihe  social  atmosphere  like  meteors  —  there  and  thus, 
came  to  him  the  knowledge  which  arrested  the  song  and  jest 
upon  his  lips. 

A  letter  was  placed  in  his  hand ;  and  though  for  a  minute  he 
seemed  struck  by  a  sudden  blow,  reeled  in  his  chair  and  clung  to 
the  table  for  support,  while  his  cheek  was  blanched  to  marble 
hue,  he  folded  it  calmly  after  the  reading,  thrust  it  carelessly 
into  his  vest  pocket,  and,  turning  to  a  companion,  said  with  an 
attempt  at  a  smile  : 

"  Pass  the  wine,  Howland  !  My  throat  is  as  dry  as  the  old 
Prex's  sermons  !  Pour  me  a  bumper." 

Louis  Howland  obeyed ;  but  hardly  had  the  glass  touched 
Jasper's  lips  before  his  hand  wavered,  the  goblet  fell,  and  he 
sank  in  a  dead  faint  from  his  chair.  —  In  five  minutes  more, 
completely  recovered  by  the  cold  water  his  companions  had 
freely  bestowed  on  his  face,  he  took  his  seat  again  at  the  table. 

"  What's  to  pay,  Golding  ?  Bad  news  ?  Anybody  ill  or 
dead  ?  "  inquired  a  class-mate  opposite. 

Jasper's  fresh  beautiful  boyish  lip  curled  scornfully  ere  it  was 
bathed  hi  the  rich  red  wine  —  and  a  light  laugh  confirmed  his 
words : 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        153 

"  Nonsense  !  It  was  absolutely  nothing  —  a  mere  trifle,  that's 
all !  Positively,  I'm  getting  womanish !  I  declare,  my  hand 
shakes  !  Here,  Bob  —  drink  a  sentiment  with  me  — '  Confusion 
to  '  pony '  chums,  prayer-bells,  and  peaching  tutors !  From 
these,  and  other  like  college  nuisances,  'good  Lord  deliver 
us  ! ' "  —  and  he  held  out  a  brimming  goblet. 

The  toast  was  received  with  shouts  of  approbation;  after- 
wards, Bob  Darrah  sang  a  "  smoking  song,"  —  his  head  lost  in 
the  floating  cigar-wreaths  about  him,  and  his  feet  at  an  angle  of 
forty-five  degrees  on  Jasper's  study-table ;  then  followed  other 
songs,  impromptu  witticisms,  gay  badinage,  and  lively  conversa- 
tion —  the  latter  turning  mostly  on  college  affairs,  sometimes  in- 
terlarded with  expletives  neither  choice  nor  classical,  though 
often  not  unapt,  detailing  how  this  class-mate  made  a  complete 
"  fizzle  "  in  that  day's  recitation  —  how  the  "  old  Prex  "  was 
"  down  "  on  that  one,  and  had  him  "  up  "  for  misdemeanor  — 
what  a  "  rich "  time  a  quartet  of  dignified,  bearded  Sophs,  had 
"smoking  out"  a  newly-fledged  Freshy  —  or  how  some  par- 
ticularly obnoxious  tutor,  convinced  that  "  something  was  rotten 
in  the  state  of  Denmark,"  made  the  discovery  of  a  brace  of 
antique  defunct  cats  in  his  dressing-closet;  or,  returning  late 
soine  dark  night  from  a  visit  to  his  Dulcinea,  on  gaining  his 
room,  met  apparently  some  monster  visitant  from*  Goblin-land, 
which  proved  eventually  to  be  some  superannuated  white  horse 
perfectly  at  home  among  the  said  tutor's  Greek  "  roots,"  giving 
token  of  his  appreciation  of  the  Classics  by  converting  them  liter- 
ally into  dead  (and  eaten)  languages  ! 

But  over  all  the  evening's  festivities  the  utmost  good  humor 
prevailed ;  and  no  laugh  rang  louder,  or  wit-shaft  cut  keener, 
than  Jasper  Gelding's. 

"  Come  fellows  —  Edmonds,  Reade,  Darrah,  all  of  you  —  let's 
break  up.  It's  late  —  the  tutors  will  be  sneaking  round,"  urged 


154  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

Louis  Rowland,  rising ;  for  he  saw  that  their  young  host  was 
drinking  to  excess. 

"  No  !  no  !  let's  make  a  night  of  it.  Tutors  be  hanged  !  "  Sit 
down,  boys ! "  and  Jasper  sprang  up  and  locked  the  door,  and 
placed  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

"  No  —  we  must  go.  It's  time  we  were  all  asleep,  or  at  our 
books.  Think  of  your  morrow's  recitations.  I  must  bid  you 
good  night,  at  least,"  and  Howland  approached  the  door. 

His  advice  seemed  sensible.  Jasper  unlocked  the  door,  and 
in  three  minutes  all  had  passed  out.  But  Howland  walked  a 
few  steps  along  the  passage,  then  returned. 

"  Golding,  I  do  not  want  to  intrude  —  but  /  was  not  deceived 
about  that  letter.  There  was  some  bad  news  in  it.  Can  I  be 
of  any  assistance  to  you  ?  My  purse  —  "  and  he  drew  it  from 
his  pocket. 

A  quiver  contracted  Jasper's  beautiful  lips  ;  for  an  instant  he 
bowed  a  forehead  white  as  a  girl's  and  overswept  with  rings  of 
brown  hair  on  Louis  Howland's  manly  shoulder ;  his  hand 
wrung  that  which  clasped  his.  Then  he  choked  down  the 
rising  softness,  raised  his  head,  and  spoke  huskily : 

"  God  bless  you,  Howland !  but  you  can  do  nothing.  Only 
leave  me ! " 

Louis  Howland  passed  out,  looking  back  with  something  like 
moisture  in  his  own  fine  dark  eyes.  When  alone,  Jasper  drank 
off  rapidly  glass  after  glass  of  wine,  then  flung  himself  down  on 
a  chair  at  the  window  and  leaned  his  forehead  on  the  sill.  Not 
a  groan,  tear,  or  sob  escaped  him ;  the  wine  circling  in  his  veins 
failed  to  warm  him ;  he  was  cold  —  cold  as  death. 

O,  terrible,  when  the  thunderbolt  falls  headlong  from  a  clear 
sky,  blasting,  blackening  the  fresh  tree,  steeping  its  green  verdure 
in  liquid  fire,  scarring  it  to  its  core  ! 

So  had  all  the  hopes  that  bloomed  for  that  proud,  sensitive, 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        155 

noble-hearted,  ambitious  boy  perished  —  so  had  every  green  and 
pleasant  thing  been  stripped  from  his  life,  and  his  heart  been 
stricken.  Like  a  lightning  stroke  it  came  —  that  cruel,  cun- 
ning, fiendishly  devised  letter,  wherein  Golding  sought  to  reach 
the  father's  heart  through  his  boy's.  Until  this  hour  had  this 
knowledge  been  hoarded  —  and  now,  a  lie  wrought  into  its 
whole  fabric,  it  came  —  wild,  maddening,  stunning.  There, 
upon  the  table,  lay  the  terrible  revelation  —  "  Augustus  Eevere 
is  your  father !  You  are  the  child  of  shame  !  "  More  —  much 
more  —  of  hypocritical  sorrow  and  hollow  offers  of  kindness 
had  Golding  written ;  but  Jasper  only  kept  his  eyes  bent  de- 
spairingly on  those  fatal,  stunning  words  —  "  The  child  of 
shame  !  " 

Alas  for  the  dreams  of  his  proud  heart,  his  fresh  youthful 
aspirations,  his  ambitious  spirit !  all  stricken  down  to  dust.  To 
the  future  his  gaze  went  forward  —  ah,  such  a  future,  with  that 
stain,  that  heritage  of  shame  and  sin !  The  thought  of  those 
coming  years  was  the  keenest  pang. 

He  sprang  up  and  paced  the  floor  madly.  Save  for  two 
blood-red  spots  on  his  cheeks,  his  face  was  pale  as  marble.  His 
eyes  burned  with  a  fitful  hollow  brilliancy,  like  lamps  shining 
out  of  a  tomb.  • 

"  Terrible  !  I  had  rather  died  than  learned  this  !  God ! 
why  did  he  keep  it  from  me,  to  reveal  at  this  late  day  ?  Why 
did  he  not  keep  silent  eternally,  or  tell  me  earlier,  ere  I  built 
me  up  such  a  fair  bright  future,  —  when  I  had  associated  her 
with  every  dream,  and  said,  '  To  win  Orah  Rowland  will  I  do 
this,  and  this'?  Oh  such  an  elixir  as  her  love  would  have 
proved  !  By  what  feats  of  prowess  would  I  have  won  it !  — 
what  conquests  in  the  world  of  Mind  and  Thought !  I  would 
have  gone  on  from  victory  to  victory,  wresting  laurel  after  laurel 
till  the  crown  was  woven  to  lay  at  her  feet.  Now  —  now  — 


156  PEACE  :    OB   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

what  have  we  in  common  ?  —  she  the  peerless,  proud  girl,  and 
I,  the  humbled,  disgraced,  degraded  offspring  of  a  debauchee  ? 
In  her  purity  and  her  pride,  she  would  strike  me  into  dust  with 
the  lightning  glances  of  her  eyes.  Oh,  this  is  bitterest  of  all !  " 
and  the  agonized  boy  flung  himself  on  his  bed  in  a  wild  passion 
of  tears  —  blessed  tears,  for  they  saved  him  from  madness  ! 

From  that  night,  began  the  downward  course  of  Jasper 
Golding. 

Maddened  by  the  one  haunting  thought  which  followed  him 
everywhere,  he  rushed  headlong  into  the  wildest  vortex  of  dissi- 
pation —  drank  deeply  of  the  wine-cup,  handled  the  dice,  drove 
fast  horses  on  the  race-ground,  frequented  theatres  and  every 
place  of  public  amusement  in  the  adjoining  city  —  vainly  seeking 
to  drown  memory  in  Pleasure's  Lethean  wave.  It  were  boot- 
less to  recount  the  steps  by  which  he  trod  his  rapid  downward 
way.  A  high,  proud,  sensitive  soul,  suddenly  stung  into  mad- 
ness, is  not  long  in  rushing  to  its  own  ruin.  In  the  maddening 
anguish  which  rent  the  poor  youth's  heart  —  the  blight  dropped 
over  his  future  —  and  the  wide  chasm  which  separated  him,  the 
illegitimate,  penniless  son,  from  the  proud,  pure,  patrician  girl  — 
there  was  enough  to  appal  a  stronger  nature  than  he  possessed ; 
and  it  was  but  a  legitimate  resist  that  he  should  dash  into  the 
path  which  led  still  further  from  her  side. 

But  this  could  not  last  always.  Dissipation  and  late  hours 
told  upon  him ;  neglect  of  study  and  total  failure  in  recitation 
were  not  infrequent ;  midnight  orgies,  from  which  he  often 
returned  in  a  state  of  intoxication,  could  not  always  be  kept 
concealed,  though  generous  classmates  often  bore  him  to  his 
room  and  remained  with  him  the  night  through,  that  the  tutors 
should  not  find  him  thus ;  at  length  the  sad,  disgraceful  finale 
came.  A  letter  was  forwarded  to  his  guardian  —  "  Hugh  Gold- 
ing,  Esq.,  New  York  city,"  Stating  that,  "  owing  to  irregularities 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        157 

of  conduct,  neglect  of  study,  and  defiance  of  college  discipline, 
it  had  become  the  necessary  duty  of  the  Faculty  to  forthwith 
expel  his  ward,  Jasper  Golding,  from  the  University." 

Hugh  Golding  read  this  letter  with  a  smile.  "  It  works  well. 
I  told  you,  Augustus  -Revere,  I  would  reach  your  heart  yet ! " 
then,  re-enveloping  it,  he  directed  it  to  the  gambler  merchant, 
and  started  to  seek  Jasper,  whom  it  was  his  policy  not  to  seem 
to  desert.  The  remorse-stricken  Revere  also  sought  his  son ; 
but  too  late  !  Both  guardian  and  father  were  unsuccessful  —  Jas- 
per had  disappeared. 

"  At  least,  my  revenge  is  gained ! "  said  Golding  as  he  re- 
turned from  his  fruitless  journey.  "  Though  I  did  hope  the  lad 
would  give  me  a  clue  to  his  whereabouts.  But  no  matter  now ! 
I  can  afford  to  wait  patiently  his  turning  up  —  I  do  not  intend 
to  desert  him  altogether.  Meantime,  with  his  last  quarter's 
remittance  —  which,  thank  Fortune,  I  never  suffered  to  reach 
its  destination  —  I  can  live  !  " 

14 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

Oh  !  fear  not  in  a  world  like  this, 
And  thou  shalt  know  ere  long  — 

Know  how  sublime  a  thing  it  is 
To  suffer  and  be  strong.  ., 

LONGFELLOW. 

PEACE  stood  upon  a  flight  of  marble  steps  at  the  door  of  an 
elegant  Fifth  Avenue  mansion.  Her  hand  trembled  on  the 
bell-knob ;  and  its  clear  sharp  peal  sounding  out  from  the  hall 
struck  an  indefinable  dread  to  her  heart. 

Poor  girl !  her  black  dress  betokened  that  she  was  again  in 
mourning ;  but  no  outward  token  could  symbolize  the  utter  deso- 
lation of  her  heart. 

Homeless  !  an  orphan  !  "Words  which  define  the  saddest"  of 
lots !  Never  a  loving  eye  to  grow  tender  at  your  coming,  or 
weep  for  your  going  —  never  a  lip  to  smile  at  your  joys,  or 
mourn  for  your  griefs  —  never  a  hand  to  push  back  the  curls 
from  a  young  girlish  forehead,  or  to  draw  down  an  aching  head 
to  a  throbbing  heart.  God  pity  such  !  and  help  them  !  When 
every  earthly  friend  and  helper  has  been  laid  away  under  the 
sod  —  when  the  earth  seems  vast  and  drear  and  lonely  —  then 
may  the  great  Friend  stretch  forth  the  Everlasting  arm  of  His 
Love ! 

Peace  was  alone  in  the  world.  She  stood  now  shrinking, 
trembling,  at  the  door  of  the  mansion  within  whose  walls  she 
must  toil  for  a  livelihood.  She.  was  to  become  a  governess. 

When  Reuben  Wedgewood's  estate  was  settled,  no  will  was 
found ;  and,  according  to  the  decree  of  the  law,  the  whole  passed 

(168) 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  TTILL.  1-59 

into  possession  of  the  nearest  kin  —  Hannah  Ward.  x  There 
were  many  who  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  said  among  them- 
sleves  — 

"  It  is  strange !  We  always  thought  he  meant  to  do  right  by 
Peace ; "  and  some  even  dared  to  whisper  their  suspicions  that 
all  was  not  as  it  should  be ;  but  when  did  ever  the  opinion  of 
man  prevail  against  the  stern  codes  written  down  in  statute 
books  ?  And  so  the  Ridge  farm  passed  into  the  hands  of  the 
harsh  spinster,  and  the  bereaved  girl  was  left  literally  portion- 
less as  she  was  homeless. 

It  was  a  dull,  aching  pain  which  thrilled  Peace's  heart  as  she 
went  to  pay  a  farewell  visit  to  the  graves  on  Wood  Hill ;  and, 
leaning  against  a  tree,  looked  with  swimming  eyes  on  the  mounds 
which  covered  the  still  pale  faces  of  all  who  had  loved  her. 
September  had  not  faded  —  the  September  which  had  witnessed 
her  graduation  'at  Northfield,  and  saw  her  fitted,  by  Aunt  Pa- 
tience's precious  legacy,  for  that  teacher's  life  to  which  she  must 
now  look  as  her  means  of  support,  —  but  "already  sad,  sighing 
winds  were  astray  in  the  forests  —  their  mournful  voices,  premo- 
nitory of  the  coming  dreary  autumn.  How  unlike  it  was  to  the 
September  of  a  year  agone  !  Then  the  hazy  beauty  of  an  early 
Indian  Summer  flushed  the  landscape  into  living  beauty,  —  then, 
amid  her  pleasant  school  duties,  she  penned  long  letters  to  Uncle 
Reuben  and  read  his  affectionate  fatherly  responses,  anticipating 
the  time  when  she  should  return  to  the  dear  old  home  and  watch 
lovingly  over  his  declining  years.  Now,  that  home  was  hers  no 
more ;  another  grave  lengthened  its  swelling  mound  on  Wood 
Hill ;  —  beside  the  wrinkled,  aged  sister,  and  the  girl  who  in 
her  bloom  and  beauty  had  found  a  grave,  Reuben  also  slumber- 
ed quietly. 

True  a  home  —  a  shelter,  rather  —  had  been  offered  Peace. 
It  was  a  deep  game  that  Hannah  Ward  had  played ;  and  she 


160        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

could  not  long  bring  herself,  despite  her  grasping,  avaricious  na- 
ture, to  look  unmoved  upon  the  pale  face  of  the  orphan ;  besides, 
she  feared  the  construction  the  people  of  Meadow-Brook  would 
put  upon  so  harsh  an  act ;  but  the  high-spirited  girl,  with  an  in- 
stinctive intuition  that  she  had  been  wronged,  and  revolting 
from  a  life  with  the  hard,  cold  spinster,  rejected  the  grudging 
offer,  and  resolved  to  earn  her  own  livelihood. 

An  opportunity  soon  presented  itself. 

un  the  day  previous  to  her  graduation,  Madame  Southworth 
sent  for  Miss  Wedgewood  to  visit  her  in  her  own  room.  An 
open  letter  lay  before  the  lady. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  said  kindly,  smoothing  down  the  curls 
of  the  beautiful  girl,  and  taking  one  hand  in  her  own,  "  This  let- 
ter contains  an  inquiry  for  a  governess  from  my  Seminary. 
The  applicant  is  unknown  to  me,  —  but  a  New  York  lady,  who 
says  her  former  governess  was  educated  here,  and  she  is  de- 
sirous of  another  to  fill  her  place.  The  pupils  are  her  two  child- 
ren, a  girl  and  boy  of  twelve  and  ten.  Salary,  three  hundred 
per  year.  Knowing  somewhat  of  your  circumstances,'  I  give 
you  the  first  offer.  What  say  you,  my  dear  ?  —  shall  I  write  in 
the  affirmative  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  madam,  I  will  go ! "  said  Peace,  gratefully  and 
bravely ;  and  thus  was  made  the  decision  that  should  take  her 
far  from  those  quiet  classic  shades. 

There  was  a  brief  visit  to  the  Ridge  —  a  farewell  hour  in  the 
morning  twilight  on  Wood  Hill,  tears  dropped  upon  the  new- 
made  grave  and  the  sod  which  covered  Patience,  and  a  passion- 
ate, clinging  pressure  of  her  lips  to  the  little  white  headstone 
whereon  was  rudely  graven,  "  Mary,  —  aged  twenty-three  ;  " 
and  then  she  turned  away  and  walked  back  down  the  hill  slope 
and  through  the  valley  to  the  Ridge,  where  Hannah  Ward  was 
moving  with  heavy  steps  from  kitchen  to  dairy  and  dairy  to 
kitchen. 


PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         161 

"  La,  eat  your  breakfast,  child !  You'll  be  sick,  if  you  ride 
on  an  empty  stomach,"  urged  the  spinster.  But  little  food  pass- 
ed the  girl's  lips ;  she  rose  from  the  table,  walked  through  the 
house  where  eveiy  room  now  deserted  showed  some  token  of 
the  dead ;  took  down  the  old-fashioned  profiles  of  Patience  and 
Reuben  from  the  west  room  wall,  and  laid  them  in  her  travel- 
ling satchel ;  then  sat  down  on  the  front  door  threshold,  where 
stood  Chip  watching  the  approach  of  the  old  yellow  stage-coach 
up  the  willow-guarded  highway. 

"I'm  thinkin'  it  '11  be  dreadful  lonesome  here,  Miss  Peace, 
after  ye're  gone,"  said  the  bound  boy,  leaning  his  lank  form 
against  the  doorway,  with  a  sorrowful  look  in  his  dim  blue  eyes. 
Time,  though  it  had  added  to  the  stature,  and  subdued  the  quaint 
chatter  of  the  faithful  lad,  had  not  eradicated  his  reverence  for 
Peace.  "Yes,  there  comes  the  darned  old  stage  to  take  ye  off! 
Taint  as  if  you  was  goin'  to  school  this  time,  and  Patience  and 
Uncle  Reuben  was  here  to  see  you  start.  You  see,"  and  he 
approached  with  a  mysterious  air,  and  a  whisper,  "  between  you 
and  me,  I  b'lieve  she"  snapping  his  fingers  toward  the  kitchen, 
"  don't  care !  She's  glad  on't !  The  old  dragon,  —  I  hate  her ! " 
and  he  ground  his  teeth. 

"  Hush,  Chip !  You  mustn't  talk  so !  I  shall  come  to  see 
you  sometime  —  another  year,  perhaps.  There,  help  put  my 
trunks  on  the  stage.  I  shall  not  forget  you  ! " 

Hannah  now  came  to  the  door,  hearing  the  roll  of  wheels. 

"  And  so  ye're  goin',  Peace  ?  Well,  good  luck  to  ye  —  and 
when  -ye  want  a  nice  comfortable  home,  jest  remember  the  offer 
I  made  ye.  Maybe,  you'll  be  glad  to  get  back  some  day.  Good 
bye !  "  and  she  held  out  her  hard  horny  hand. 

"  Hannah  Ward,  I  would  not  accept  a  home  from  you  if  I 
starved  !  When  I.  come  back  here,  it  must  be  as  I  have  always 
lived  here  —  by  right  —  the  right  of  adoption  !  Aunt  Patience 

14* 


162  PEACE  :     OE   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

meant  it  —  she  said  so  on  her  death  bed :  Uncle  Reuben  meant 
it,  you  knew  that;  but  the  law  gave  to  you,  and  made  me  a 
beggar !  But  I  am  going  where  I  can  earn  my  own  bread :  if 
you  can  eat  yours,  without  the  stings  of  conscience,  you  will  be  a 
happy  woman !  Yet  one  thing  I  would  ask  of  you  —  be  kind  to 
Chip  —  treat  him  well  —  he  is  good,  honest,  and  faithful.  Han- 
nah Ward,  good  bye ! " 

It  was  the  old  passionate  spirit  which  had  occasionally  stirred 
the  quiet  of  her  childhood,  that  prompted  this  outburst  of  indig- 
nation. Peace  felt  that  she  had  been  wronged  —  though,  cer- 
tainly, of  the  heinousness  of  the  sin  Hannah  had  committed,  she 
had  not  the  faintest  suspicion  —  and  she  had  not  so  far  learned 
prudence  or  subjection  as  to  restrain  her  thoughts  in  this  part- 
ing hour.  She  walked  proudly  down  the  path  to  the  stage  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes. 

"  Good  bye,  Chip ! "  she  cried  from  the  window,  as  she  was 
borne  down  the  road. 

"  "Well,  I  never  !  —  What  impudence  !  —  Can  she  know  ?  " 
and  Hannah  Ward  dropped  down  on  the  nearest  kitchen  chair, 
a  shade  of^paleness  on  her  hard  cheek.  "  But  no !  what  a  fool 
to  be  scar't  to  death !  She  was  only  mad  —  that's  all !  Much 
good'll  the  property  ever  do  Mary  Halpine's  brat  now ! "  and 
with  a  bitter  smile  on  her  thin  withered  lips,  she  set  about  her 
daily  work. 

Chip,  meantime,  hung  over  the  gate  gazing  after  the  stage ; 
and  when  it  turned  a  bend  in  the  long  sweeping  highway,  he 
went  and  hid  himself  in  the  long  barn  a  full  half  hour,  till 
Hannah's  shrill  call  broke  his  sorrowful  reverie. 

So,  Peace  had  gone  forth  from  the  home  of  her  childhood ;  and 
now  she  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  stately  city  mansion  which,  for 
one  year,  was  to  be  her  abiding  place.  Little  wonder  was  it, 
that,  wearied  with  the  long  journey,  alone  in  a  great  metropolis, 


PEACE  :     OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  163 

the  stately  free-stone  walls  seemed  to  frown  down  threateningly 
upon  her,  and  the  sharp  bell-peal  struck  a  thrill  of  dread  to  her 
heart  —  and  when  the  heavy  door  slowly  turned  on  its  hinges, 
and  a  fat  porter  who  looked  the  very  personification  of  over-fed 
insolence,  stood  before  her  with  a  contemptuous  stare,  she 
seemed  ready  to  sink. 

"  I  am  expected  —  "  she  at  length  faltered  forth. 

"  Ah,  so  I  should  suppose  ! "  said  the  man,  superciliously  ele- 
vating his  eye-brows  and  eyeing  the  trunks  the  hackman  had 
deposited  on  the  steps.  "  Your  name,  miss  ?  "  —  and  he  stood 
across  the  threshold,  not  inviting  her  to  enter. 

A  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  swept  over  Peace.  Her  spirits 
rose  indignantly ;  a  lightning  flash  darkened  her  blue  eyes,  her 
cheeks  were  crimson,  and  her  form  seemed  to  dilate. 

"  Go  to  your  mistress  instantly.  Tell  her  that  Miss  Wedge- 
wood  is  here  !  "  she  said  haughtily,  stepping  over  the  threshold 
and  setting  foot  on  the  velvet  carpet  of  the  hall. 

The  proud  self-possession  which  displaced  all  her  drooping 
timidity  would  have  commanded  the  respect  and  obedience  of  the 
pampered  menial  who  involuntarily  stepped  backward  and  laid 
his  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  drawing-room  door  to  admit  her, 
had  not  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Delano  been  heard  fron^  the  upper 
hall,  as  that"  lady  leaned  over  the  rosewood  banister,  saying : 

"  It  is  the  new  goverrfess,  John.     Show  her  up." 

With  a  firm  step  Peace  followed  him  up  the  spacious  stair- 
case, her  foot  sinking  inch-deep  into  the  luxurious  carpet  —  the 
dim  light  through  the  ground  glass  of  the  windows  revealing  a 
richly  frescoed  wall  and  ceiling  —  and  was  ushered  through  an 
open  door  on  the  right  into  a  boudoir  draped  with  hangings  of 
pale  blue  silk  and  lace  embroidery,  and  furnished  with  lounges, 
tete-a-tetes,  and  easy  chairs  upholstered  with  satin  brocatelle  of 
the  same  azure  hue.  On  a  sofa  near  -the  door  sat  a  large,  over- 


164        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

V 

dressed  woman  of  perhaps  forty,  with  a  face  whose  vulgar  red 
the  paling  tint  of  the  curtains  could  not  subdue,  holding  a  fat 
pink-eyed  poodle  affectionately  in  her  arms ;  and  in  a  window 
recess  from  which  the  hangings  were  looped  back  with  massive 
cord  and  tassels  of  blue  and  silver,  her  graceful  form  clad  in  an 
exquisitely  embroidered  snowy  cambric  wrapper  and  half-buried 
in  the  depths  of  an  ample  reception  chair,  her  tiny  slippered  foot 
on  a  velvet  cushion,  and  intent  upon  the  perusal  of  the  French 
novel  in  her  fair  jewelled  hands,  sat  an  elegant  girl.  These 
were  Mrs.  Delano  and  her  eldest  daughter,  Florence. 

"  Ah,  you  hav,e  come,  then  ?  for  I  presume  I  address  the 
young  lady  sent  by  Madame  Southworth,"  said  the  former,  with 
what  was  intended  for  a  dignified  inclination  of  her  head,  but 
which  the  shortness  of  her  neck  transformed  into  a  little  jerking 
nod. 

"I  am  Miss  Wedgewood,  madam,"  replied  Peace  quietly, 
taking  the  nearest  seat. 

"  Florence,  my  love,  this  is  the  teacher." 

The  young  lady  glanced  up  from  her  novel,  and  with  a 
haughty  nod  coolly  scanned  Peace  from  head  to  foot ;  but  the 
quiet  self-possessed  look  from  the  calm  blue  eyes  under  the 
shadow  of  the  mourning  veil,  dispossessed  her,  —  and,  feigning  an 
aristocratic  indifference,  she  dropped  her  eyes  upon  her  book  again. 

"  Miss  Wedgewood,  I  had  no  idea  but  Madame  Southworth 
would  send  me  an  older  person.  You  look  very  young.  The 
last  governess  was  much  older." 

"  I  am  young,"  rejoined  Peace  ;  "  not  quite  seventeen.     Buf1 
I  shall  be  growing  older  every  day,"  she  added,  slightly  smiling. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  But  that  is  very  young  —  a  mere  child.  Really, 
Victorine  is  almost  as  large  as  you  are.  You  are  tall  —  quite 
tall  —  but  too  slender.  Are  you  strong,  miss  ?  " 

Peace's  cheek  flushed. 


PEACE  :    OB   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  165 

"  Madam,  is  my  size,  or  strength,  or  years,  the  criterion  of  my 
qualifications  to  teach  your  children?  Madame  Southworth's 
statement  only  involved  my  scholarship,  I  presume ! "  she  said 
spiritedly. 

"  Dear  me !  Why,  Miss  Wedgewood,  you're  hasty !  I 
meant  nothing  of  the  kind)  I  assure  you.  Pray,  sit  down  ! "  — 
for  Peace  had  risen.  "  Your  youth  seems  objectionable  only  so 
far  as  your  power  of  governing  is  concerned.  And  yet,  after  all, 
it  may  be  best  —  for  you  will  enter  more  into  the  feelings  of  the 
children.  They  always  complained  that  Miss  Benson  was  too 
stiff  and  unbending.  You  see,  .my  dear,"  —  and  the  lady  smiled 
condescendingly,  —  "  I,  for  one,  don't  believe  in  taxing  teachers 
too  hard  —  nor  pupils,  either.  Thus  your  duties  will  not  be 
onerous  —  no  dull,  flagging  scholars  to  urge  along  —  for  Alexis 
is  uncommonly  clever ;  indeed,  Doctor  Parbox  assures  me  that 
his  brain  is  prematurely  developed  —  and  then  Victorine's  pas- 
sion for  Music  is  really  wonderful !  You  areian  accomplished 
pianist,  your  Principal  wrote  me.  Do  you  sing,  also  ?  " 

Peace  nodded  an  affirmative. 

"  "Well,  I  am  glad  of  that.  Miss  Benson  had  no  voice.  Vic- 
torine  will  be  delighted.  As  regards  management,  jio  doubt 
you  will  find  my  darlings  perfectly  submissive.  Perhaps,  now 
and  then,  a  little  exuberance  of  spirits  on  Alexis's  part  will  need 
restraint  —  but  usually  he  is  an  affectionate  and  yielding  child. 
There  is  little  Cora  Palfrey  —  my  nephew's  child — whose 
^ome  is  with  us  —  you  will  not  object  to  her,  occasionally,  in  the 
school-room,  Miss  Wedgewood  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  children,"  replied  Peace. 

"  Well,  the  child  will  be  no  care.  She  is  a  mere  baby,  fol- 
lowing Victorine  everywhere.  But  hark  !  I  hear  the  darlings 
now  from  the  nursery.  Rather  noisy,  I  declare !  That  Kath- 
leen !  —  dear  me,  I  must  dismiss  her !  She  don't  manage  right 


166  PEACE  :  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

with  Alexis  !  —  always  crossing  him ! "  —  and  at  that  moment 
sundry  shrieks,  a  kicking  of  boots  against  the  wall,  and  the 
sound  of  an  angry  boyish  voice  interlarded  with  expostulations 
in  a  rich  Irish  brogue,  issuing  from  a 'room  across  the  passage- 
way, proclaimed  an  "  exuberance  of  spirits  "  on  the  young  gen- 
tleman's part  quite  shocking  to  Peace. 

At  this  moment,  the  pet  poodle,  Marco  Bozzaris,  leaped  from 
his  mistress's  lap,  joining  in  the  chorus  with  a  series  of  sharp, 
yelping  cries.  Miss  Florence  put  her  white  hands  over  her 
ears,  exclaiming,  "  Dear  me !  mamma,  how  shocking ! "  —  and 
Mrs.  Delano  gave  the  bell-rope  a  vigorous  pull. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Marky  never  hears  Alexis's  voice,  but  he  joins 
in  thescry.  I've  no  doubt  but  Kathleen  has  been  crossing  him 
in  some  harmless  sport.  These  Irish  girls  are  so  impatient !  I 
shall  dismiss  her  immediately.  It  seems  her  special  delight  to 
wony  my  darling.  Come  here,  Marky  —  come  here  this  min- 
ute, I  say ! "  sh$  called  out,  in  a  tone  which,  if  "  a  low  sweet 
voice  in  woman  "  be  the  criterion»of  true  gentility,  certainly  re- 
moved Mrs.  Delano  from  the  slightest  suspicion  of  such  preten- 
sions. "  Ah,  Robert,"  —  as  the  serving  boy  appeared  —  "  tell 
Kathleen  I  want  her  instantly  !  " 

Peace  had  not  spoken  during  this  scene,  but  now  she  said, 
"  Madam,  if  you  please,  I  will  be  shown  to  my  room." 

"  Ah,  bless  me ! "  exclaimed  the  purse-proud  woman  whose 
richness  of  attire  and  elegant  surroundings  could  not  conceal  her 
innate  vulgarity,  "  I  had  forgotten,  Miss  Wedgewood,  that  you 
might  be  weary.  You  came  by  the  boat,  I  presume,  and  they 
are  dreadful  for  making  one  sea-sick  when  the  -Sound  is  rough. 
In  consideration  of  your  journey,  you  need  not  commence  your 
duties  in  the  school-room  until  to-morrow.  Kathleen,  show  Miss 
Wedgewood  her  room  ;  and  then,  do  you  return  to  me  ! " 

Peace  followed  the  Irish  girl  who  had  just  made  her  appear- 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        167 

ance  at  the  door — through  the  long  hall  covered  with  carpets 
of  the  choicest  texture  into  which  her  little  feet  sank  as  in  a  bed 
of  flowers  —  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  through  another  hall  and  up 
another  flight  covered  with  plain  straw  matting,  into  a  low 
chamber '  sparingly  furnished  with  a  bed,  table,  wash-stand,  and 
a  couple  of  chairs,  and  whither  the  porter  had  already  conveyed 
her  trunks. 

This  little  attic  chamber  was  in  no  respects  better  than  those 
occupied  by  any  servant  in  that  household ;  and  the  good-natured 
Kathleen  understood  Peace's  glance  of  indignant  surprise,  and 
said  half-apologetically : 

"  Please,  miss,  ye  mustn't  mind  the  place  for  a  little  while. 
Miss  Florence  is  to  give  a  monsthrous  birth-day  party  the  next 
week  —  and  it's  ivery  room  in  the  house'll  be  crammed,  sure  ; 
but  after  that,  Mrs.  Delano  will  give  ye  a  nice  great  room  down 
stairs.  It  isn't  the  likes  of  yez,  miss  —  for  ye're  a  rale  born 
leddy,  ivery  inch  of  ye  —  that  should  be  put  into  the  garret ! 
And  is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  ye  now  —  to  help  ye, 
miss  ?  "  —  and  the  honest-hearted  girl  lingered  at  the  door. 

"  No,  no  !  thank  you.  Only  leave  me ! "  —  and  Peace  could 
scarcely  restrain  the  sobs  that  choked  her  voice  until  she  was 
alone  ;  then  she  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  threw  herself  in  a 
chair,  and  burying  her  face  in  the  bed-clothes,  burst  into  tears. 
And  bitter,  indignant  tears,  were  they  too,  that  streamed  from 
her  blue  eyes. 

"  And  this  is  the  place  to  which  I  have  been  looking  forward 
as  a  happy  refined  home  !  This  is  what  I  have  educated  myself 
for  —  to  teach  wild,  spoilt,  romping  children  !  to  be  little  better 
than  a  hired  nursery  girl !  I  will  never  stay !  That  purse- 
proud,  vulgar  woman  —  that  haughty  daughter,  with  her  doll- 
face  and  insolent  stare  !  They  may  keep  their  gold  —  and  I 
will  go  forth,  and  do  anything  —  teach  the  children  of  the  back- 


168  PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

woods  —  do  anything,  rather  than  remain  here!"  —  and  she 
rose  and  paced  the  room  excitedly,  and  with  flashing  eyes. 

But  softly,  softly,  Peace !  Have  you  never  heard  that  arro- 
gance and  pride  of  purse  always  look  down  contemptuously  on 
those  one  round  below  them  in  the  social  ladder  ?  that  the  only 
"  golden  calf  "  was  not  set  up  for  worship  in  the  long  gone  ages, 
out  even,  in  our  own  day,  there  be  many  who  stand  on  gilded 
pedestals  ? 

No,  you  have  never  seen  the  great  world  —  you  never  learned 
any  such  teachings ;  —  but  you  will. 

At  seventeen,  when  the  blood  boils  with  life's  early  fever,  and 
wells  up  angrily  against  slight  and  insult,  I  know  it  is  hard  to 
bear!  But  Peace,  you  must  school  that  warm,  rich  heart — 
gird  on  a  breast-plate,  as  of  steel,  against  which  the  barbed 
arrows  of  contempt  and  injury  shall  glance  harmlessly  off — 
keeping  every  treasure  of  your  young  spirit  —  Faith,  Trust, 
Love  —  hoarded  carefully  for  one  who  cometh,  that  spirit's  lord 
and  king ! 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

Have  you  not  heard  the  Poet  tell 
How  came  the  dainty  babie  Bell 

Into  this  world  of  ours  1 
The  gates  of  heaven  were  left  ajar : 

With  folded  hands  and  dreamy  eyes 

She  wandered  out  of  Paradise  ! 

T.  B.  ALDKICH. 

AT  nine,  on  the  morning  following  her  installation  in  Mrs. 
Delano's  house  as  governess,  Peace  found  herself  in  the  school- 
room. It  was  a  large  apartment  on  the  second  floor,  in  the  rear 
of  the  nurgery  with  which  it  communicated  by  a  folding  door ; 
and  well  furnished  with  a  handsome  carpet,  desks  and  chairs  for 
teacher  and  pupils,  a  piano,  table  for  books,  and  maps  on  the 
walls. 

Mrs.  Delano,  attired  in  a  showy  wrapper  of  green  brocade 
with  broad  crimson  facings,  and  jaunty  cap  of  tulle,  ribbons  and 
flowers,  on  the  back  of  her  head,  had  preceded  her  —  and  al- 
ready sat  pompously  awaiting  the  governess  :  Miss  Victorine  — 
a  miniature  of  her  portly  mamma,  in  a  rich  frock,  elaborately 
embroidered  pantalettes,  and  her  long  braids  of  red  hair  tied  with 
heavy  ribbon  —  balanced  her  rotund  body  on  the  music  stool, 
alternately  dodging  from  her  brother's  reach,  crying,  "  Ma,  Alex, 
keeps  plaguing  me  !  "  or  drumming  the  bass  keys  of  the  instru- 
ment with  a  noisy,  kettle-drum  sort  of  an  accompaniment. 

This  scene,  with  its  somewhat  ludicrous  concomitants,  Peace 
comprehended  at  a  glance  as  she  paused  a  moment  on  the 
threshold ;  then  her  eye  was  enchained  by  a  little  fairy  child 

15  (169) 


170  PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

who  emerged  from  the  adjoining  nursery,  tripping  eagerly  over 
the  carpet,  her  tiny  hands  filled  with  toys. 

Sweet  Cora  Palfrey  !  —  the  very  prototype  of  Aldrich's  "  Ba- 
bie  Bell !  "  "With  the  plumpest  of  little  white  shoulders  peeping 
from  her  blue  thibet  frock  —  dimpled  arms,  braceleted  with 
gold  and  coral  —  tiny  rose-leaf  fingers,  grasping  dainty  toys  — 
eyes  blue  as  the  skies  hanging  over  country  meadows  in  summer 
tune  —  and  lips  like  cleft  cherries  ;  —  such  was  the  darling  four- 
year-old  child  who  bounded  into  the  school-room  with  baby  glee, 
nor  paused  until  she  caught  view  of  the  stranger  feacher. 

Then  uprose  hi  her  violet  eyes  a  look  of  childish  wonder  that 
gradually  subsided  into  a  smile,  as  of  recognition  —  she  out- 
stretched her  dimpled  hands,  scattering  her  toys  over  the  carpet 
—  then  bounded  to  the  teacher's  side,  and  held  up  her  little 
scarlet  mouth  for  a  kiss,  lisping  "  Aunty  —  aunty  !  " 

Mrs.  Delano  nodded  a  "  good  morning !  "  then  turned  to  the 
child,  saying  sharply  — 

"  Cora,  child  —  come  away !     That  is  not  aunty." 

But  the  little  one  was  not  so  easily  satisfied.  She  gazed  from 
Mrs.  Delano  to  the  governess  in  bewilderment ;  but  in  a  more 
positive  voice  repeated  "  Aunty ! " 

"She  mistakes  you  for  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Livingston,  because 
of  your  black  dress  —  she  being  in  mourning  for  her  mother, 
Cora's  maternal  grandmother,"  said  Mrs.  Delano  apologetically. 

Peace  stooped  involuntarily  and  kissed  the  rosy  lips  still 
uplifted  to  her  own.  —  She  had  never  seen  much  of  children,  — 
and,  from  her  yesterday's  insight  into  The  disposition  of  her 
employer's  "  darlings,"  she  had  at  once  foreseen  how  uncongenial 
must  be  her  situation  as  their  instructor ;  but  now,  in  the  sweet 
little,  elf  who  clung  to  her  neck,  pressed  her  dewy  lips  to  hers, 
and  persisted  in  calling  her  aunty,  her  lonely  heart  had  found 
something  to  love. 


PEACE  :    OR    THE    STOLEN   WILL.  171 

At  last  she  put  her  gently  away,  saying  kindly  —  "  No,  my 
darling,  I  am  not  aunty. ' 

"  Who  be  you,  then  ? "  asked  the  child,  a  frightened  look 
gradually  displacing  the  incredulous  one  which  lay  in  her  blue 
eyes,  and  elongating  the  curves  of  her  pouting  lips  till  she 
seemed  ready  to  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  am  the  teacher.  Call  me  Miss  Peace.  There,  don't  cry 
—  I  love  little  girls,"  and  with  another  kjss  and  a  pat  of  the 
golden  curls,  Peace  advanced  to  Mrs.  Delano,  who  had  risen, 
and  played  nervously  with  the  cord  and  tassel  of  her  robe. 

"  Do  pray  excuse  the  child,"  she  vsaid  at  length,  "  she  has  been 
quite  spoiled  by  her  aunt  Livingston.  When  she  went  south, 
and  wished  me  to  take  Cora  and  her  nurse,  I'd  no  idea  she  was 
such  a  mere  baby.  I  fear  you  may  find  her  troublesome. 
There,  Cora,  run  away  —  do !  You  shouldn't  lean  on  Miss 
Wedgewood  so ! "  for  the  girl  had  again  sought  Peace,  and 
hovered  close  beside  her,  leaning  her  golden  head  affectionately 
against  the  folds  of  her  black  dress. 

"  But  she  say  she  do  love  'ittle  dirls !  "  persisted  Cora,  sliding- 
her  fingers  into  Peace's  hand ;  who  besought  also  "  Pray,  madam, 
let  her  remain.  She  is  a  sweet  little  thing.  I  shall  love  her 
dearly,"  —  but  Mrs.  Delano  banished  her  with  harsh,  peremp- 
tory tones  —  "  Go  into  the  nursery  immediately  !  "  —  and  reluc- 
tantly, looking  wistfully  toward  her  new-found  friend,  Cora 
glided  away. 

Peace  had  much  tact,  and  could  not  fail  to,  perceive  that,  from 
some  cause,  her  notice  of  the  sweet  child  was  particularly  obnox- 
ious to  Mrs.  Delano  ;  and  attributing  it  to  a  pardonable  feeling 
of  maternal  jealousy,  she  advanced  to  that  lady's  "  darlings  "  at 
the  piano  who  eyed  somewhat  defiantly  their  new  teacher. 
"  And  so  these  are  my  pupils  ?  " 

Miss  Victorine  ceased  her  rotary  motion  on  the  piano-stool ; 


172        PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

and  Master  Alexis's  defiant  gaze  softened.  The  ogress  conjured 
up  by  'their  vivid  imaginations  —  a  tall,  severe,  frowning  "  mis- 
tress," had  vanished ;  —  in  its  place  stood  a-  young,  beautiful, 
pleasant  girl.  "  I  shall  not  fear  you !  "  plainly  uttered  both 
their  countenances. 

"  Yes,  these  are  my  children,"  was  the  answer  in  a  prideful 
and  almost  stentorian  voice.  "  Victorine,  Alexis,  my  darlings, 
this  is  your  new  teacher  —  Miss  Wedgewood.  Alexis  has  a 
wonderful  partiality  for  the  sciences,"  turning  to  Peace,  "  Dr. 
Parbox  —  a  learned  Professor  friend  of  mine  —  assures  me  he 
is  a  prodigy.  My  son,  repeat  to  Miss  Wedgewood  that  lesson 
in  Philosophy  you  recited  to  the  Doctor  the  other  day." 

Thus  addressed,  Alexis  —  a  bluff,  red-faced  boy,  also  inherit- 
ing his  mamma's  physique  in  an  extraordinary  degree  —  left 
pinching  Victorine's  fat  neck  between  his  fingers,  and,  snapping 
the  blade  of  a  new  bright  jackknife  as  a  sort  of  vigorous  jerking 
accompaniment,  rattled  off  glibly  a  curious  amalgamation  of  the 
terms  of  Natural  Philosophy,  in  which  "  attraction  of  gravitation," 
u  cohesion,"  "  'lectricity,"  "  optics,"  and  "  h'draulics  "  with  their 
definitions,  resounded  sonorously  on  the  admiring  mother's  ear. 

"  Now  decline  your  Latin  verbs,  my  dear ! "  urged  Mrs. 
Delano  at  the  close  of  the  boy's  parrot-like  performance ;  and, 
taking  in  a  fresh  supply  of  breath,  the  "  prodigy  "  started  on  his 
new  round.  Fast  and  dissonant  the  conjugations  fell  from  his 
glib  tongue,  until  a  long-drawn  inhalation  and  an  extra  snap  of 
the  knife-blade,  proclaimed  the  jfinale. 

"  Very  well,"  -said  Peace,  who  saw  that  some  expression  of 
admiration  for  the  role  her  pupil  had  enacted  was  expected, 
but  whose  greatest  exertion  was  to  suppress  her  laughter, — 
"  Madam,  your  son  has  truly  a  strong  memory  —  a  gift  which, 
combined  with  application,  must  ensure  success  in  his  studies ; 
but  Alexis,  I  presume  you  are  familiar  with  the  rudiments  of 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        173 

mathematics  ?     Let  us  see  :  will  you  repeat  to  me  the  Multipli- 
cation Table  ?  " 

"With  a  look  of  scorn,  the  boy  confidently  began,  and  volubly 
repeated  the  Table  half  through.  Then  his  recital  grew  lame  — 
hesitating  glances  were  frequent ;  but  the  mother,  who  stood 
amazed  that  so  simple  a  thing  was  required  of  her  "  precocity  " 
rendered  him  no  aid,  nor  did  the  teacher.  Finally,  he  quite 
broke  down,  and  hung  his  head,  for  Peace's  searching  gaze 
embarrassed  him.  In  another  moment,  however,  he  fully  recov- 
ered —  for  it  was  evident  that  timidity  was  not  one  of  the  qualifi- 
cations of  either  of  Mrs.  Delano's  "  darlings  "  —  and  shouted  — 

"  There,  mamma,  it's  no  use !  I'm  stuck !  Didn't  I  tell  you 
that  Alf.  Warren,  if  he  is  the  cook's  boy  and  lives  in  the  kitchen, 
can  beat  me  hi  'Rithmetic  ?  "  Then  turning  to  Peace,  "  I  can't 
say  it,  ma'am  —  for  I  never  went  to  school  with  the  other  boys. 
Alf.  —  he  knows  it  by  heart,"  and  the  knife-blade  went  open 
again. 

"  No  matter,  my  son.  Go  now  to  your  desk  !  but  do  put  up 
tha,t  knife  —  I'm  fearful  you'll  injure  yourself.  You  see,  Miss 
Wedgewood,"  said  Mrs.  Delano  complacently,  "I  never  ap- 
proved of  putting  my  children  into  the  city  schools,  where  they 
come  in  contact  with  everybody's.  Alex,  was  always  delicate  — 
and  I  particularly  requested  the  last  teacher  not  to  tax  him,  — 
Dr.  Parbox  assures  me  I  ought  not  —  and  that  will  account  for 
his  seeming  deficiency  in  some  of  the  elementary  studies.  Now 
he  took  to  his  Philosophy  at  once ;  and  one  might  as  well  en- 
deavor to  move  the  Battery,  as  turn  him  from  it.  The  Doctor 
says  '  never  cramp  or  distort  a  young  mind '  —  and  I  have 
allowed  Alex,  his  own  bent.  —  But  hadn't  you  better  hear  Vic- 
torine  play  ?  I  wish  her  to  attend  to  music,  particularly.  Vic., 
my  love,  the  Battle  of  Prague." 

•     The  young  lady  addressed  whirled  rapidly  on  her  seat,  tossed 

15* 


174        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

back  the  twin  braids  of  long  hair,  and  dashed  violently  at  the 
instrument.  Truly  a  "  Battle  "  was  it  ^—  every  separate  strain 
wrung  from  the  tortured  keys  fighting  most  desperately  to  main- 
tain its  footing  in  the  fray  —  advance,  retreat,  discharge  of  artil- 
lery, cannon  boom,  bugle  note,  and  the  rush  of  battalions,  all 
mingling  in  one  crashing  din. 

"  Excellent !  never  better,  my  love ! "  exclaimed  the  delight- 
ed mamma,  allowing  the  teacher  no  opportunity  for  an  expres- 
sion of  her  opinion  —  "  Now,  Miss  "Wedgewood,  will  you  play 
something  ?  " 

With  a  smile,  Peace  seated  herself,  and  played  —  with  mark- 
ed attention  to  time  and  emphasis,  which,  by-the-way,  were  evi- 
dently myths  to  her  pupil  —  a  few  simple  arias,  rondos,  and 
marches  from  an  instruction  book ;  and  then,  in  a  voice  neither 
powerful  or  fashionably  affected,  but  soft,  sweet  and  clear  as  a 
lute  strain,  sang  that  sweetest  of  all  Scottish  ballads  —  "  Annie 
Lawrie." 

"  Ah,  pretty  —  very  pretty ! "  I  dare  say  you  are  an  accom- 
plished pianist.  Madame,  your  Principal,  recommended  you  as 
such,"  said  Mrs.  Delano,  patronizingly  —  "  but  Monsieur  Figaro 
would  say  you  lacked  style.  Now  my  Florence  —  she  will  play 
for  you  some  day  down  in  the  drawing-room  —  her  piano  is 
superb,  quite  different  from  this  the  children  practise  on  —  my 
nephew,  Cora's  father,  selected  it  in  London  when  he  went  on 
his  foreign  tour  —  Florence  was  at  boarding-school  then  —  well, 
as  I  was  saying,  Monsieur  pronounces  her  style  brittiante,  mag- 
nifique  ! 

"  But  really ! "  drawing  forth  her  jewelled  gold  repeater, 
"  Almost  eleven !  and  I  promised  to  accompany  Florence  down 
to  Stewart's  this  morning,  to  select  her  new  party  dress.  Your 
dinner  will  be  served  in  the  nursery,  with  the  children's.  Good 
morning,  Miss  "Wedgewood ! "  and  in  stately  grandeur  Mrs.  De- 
lano sailed  from  the  school-room. 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        175 

That  evening,  as  Florence  Delano,  radiant  in  azure  satin  and 
pearls,  the  folds  of  her  Cashmere  opera  cloak  drooping  from  her 
graceful  shoulders,  stood  in  the  drawing-room,  her  mother  enter- 
ed with  flushed  face'knd  a  frown  on  her  brow. 

"  Florence,"  and  she  sank  into  a  couch  fanning  herself,  "  it  is 
perfectly  unaccountable  —  the  fancy  Lucien's  child  has  taken  to 
this  new  governess.  Even  this  morning  I  was  forced  to  send 
her  away,  she  clung  to  her  so ;  and  just  now,  passing  the  school- 
room, j  saw  her  through  the  half-open  door  in  her  lap,  and  the 
governess  hugging  and  kissing  her  as  though  she  had  found  a 
treasure.  But  I  sent  up  old  nurse  Allen  instantly.  Artful 
creature  !  I'll  warrant  she  is !  —  these  poor  teachers  always  are. 
—  You  don't  suppose,  Flor.,  this  fondling  round  the  child  is  for 
the  sake  of  the  father?  She  is  handsome  —  he  might  take  a 
fancy  to  her  —  I  have  a  great  mind  to  send  her  away ! " 

A  rich  silvery  laugh  floated  through  the  apartment,  and  a 
scornful  curve  deepened  on  Florence  Delano's  proud  lip  as  she 
adjusted  her  ermined  cloak  before  the  mirror.  "  Nonsense, 
mamma!  how  perfectly  ridiculous!  Cousin  Lucien  in  Eu- 
rope, and  this  poor  country  governess !  What  strange  ideas  run 
in  your  head." 

"  Well,  if  I  am  over  anxious,  remember  it's  for  you,  Flor. ! 
You  know  on  what  I  have  set  my  heart,  when  Lucien  returns." 

"  Your  heart  is  set  upon  that  no  more'  than  mine,  mamma ! " 
and  the  deepening  curve  on  her  ruby  lips,  and  the  settled  blaze 
of  her  clear  blue  eyes,  told  what  iron  will  ruled  that  beautiful 
girl's  spirit  —  "I  have  not  slighted  so  many  hearts,  to  go  unre- 
warded. Lucien  Palfrey  shall  be  mine  ! " 

"  Carriage  ready ! "  and  the  obsequious  porter  flung  wide  the 
drawing-room  door. 

And  that  evening,  as,  amid  the  blaze  of  gas,  the  flutter  of 


176  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

fans,  and  the  swell  of  rich  music,  Florence  Delano  sat  in  her 
crimson  lined  box  at  the  Opera  House,  coquettishly  receiving 
the  homage  of  soTme  half  dozen  admirers,  and  the  purse-proud 
woman  at  her  side  beheld  her  daughter's  fliumphs  with  an  ex- 
ultant eye  —  Peace,  the  lonely  governess,  for  whom  no  heart  in 
the  wide,  wide  world  was  beating,  sat  alone  in  the  dimly  desert- 
ed school  room. 

But  when  her  thoughts  were  saddest,  the  door  of  the  adja- 
cent nursery  where  Cora  Palfrey  had  been  put  to  sleep  was 
softly  opened  —  a  little  curly  head  peeped  roguishly  in,  two  tiny 
finger?  were  l^jd  on  the  rosebud  lips,  two  white  naked  feet  pat- 
tered across  the  carpet,  and  Peace  was  startled  by  a  little  girl 
in  a  white  cambric  night-dress  climbing  resolutely  into  her  lap. 

"  Nursy  went  down  stairs,  and  so  Cora  got  out  sly,  and  come 
back  to  see  you :  now,  'cause  you  love  'ittle  dirls,  p'ease  tell  me 
a  pretty  story ! "  and  the  curry  head  snuggled  down  to  Peace's 
bosom. 

And  so  "  story  "  after  "  story  "  —  such  as  in  her  own  childhood 
she  had  heard  from  Aunt  Patience's  lips  —  repeated  Peace  to 
the  listening  girl,  —  about  wondrous  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  and 
the  little  Red- Riding-Hood  who  set  out  on  her  mission  of  love 
to  the  good  old  grandmother,  while  Cora  asked  the  usual  num- 
ber of  children's  questions,  wondering  if  nobody  ever  killed  the 
"  ugly  old  wolf,"  till  her  blue  eyes  grew  misty  with  sleep,  — -  and 
Peace,  parting  the  golden  rings  of  hair  from  her  moist  white 
forehead,  carried  her  back  to  her  little  crib,  murmuring  as  she 
watched  her  infant  slumbers,  "  Blessed  child !  you  will  render 
the  days  I  spend  under  this  roof  endurable  —  even  pleasant. 
Darling  Cora ! " 

Ah,  yes,  yes !  What  little  child  is  not  a  darling  ?  —  a  bless- 
ing? Sparkling  eyes,  pouting  lips,  tangled  curls,  toying  hands, 
caresses,  gushes  of  baby  laughter  —  they  are  all  heart-traps  ! 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        177 

Sunbeams  in  life's  sky,  dainty  blossoms  in  life's  pathway  —  little 
warbling  golden  orioles,  flitting  in  and  out  the  sunshine  or  sha- 
dow wherein  we  sit  —  making  always  May-tune  in  our  hearts ! 

Bless  God  for  the  blue  sky,  the  dancing  waters  and  singing 
birds,  for  clinging  vines  and  flowers,  for  all  of  Nature's  beautiful 
things  —  but  bless  Him  most  for  those  who  creep  into  our  hearts 
and  vivify  our  affections,  frolic  and  caress  us  when  sad,  or,  if  we 
weep,  wind  their  tiny  arms  about  us  and  lay  their  cool  soft 
cheeks  to  ours  —  bless  Him  most  for  darling  little  children ! 


CHAPTER    XX. 

"  One,  a  queenly  maiden  fair, 
Sweepeth  past  me  with  an  air, 
Kings  might  kneel  beneath  her  stare." 

ORAH  ROWLAND  stood  alone  in  her  drawing-room.  One  by 
one  had  her  guests  taken  their  elegant  hostess's  fair  white  hand, 
and  bidden  her  adieu  ;  one  by  one  had  the  waxen  tapers  burned 
down  in  their  gilded  holders,  and  the  gas  jets  been  turned  off  by 
the  drowsy  servants  going  through  the  apartments  after  the 
festival  was  over  —  till  now  but  one  solitary  flame  in  a  mantel 
candelabra  faintly  lit  the  long  drawing-room ;  every  burst  of 
music  and  gush  of  silvery  laughter  was  hushed ;  flowers  with- 
ered in  the  vases  ;  Judge  Rowland  and  his  son  had  sought  their 
own  rooms ;  and  Orah  stood  alone  in  the  shadows  of  rich  dra- 
pery muffling  a  deep  embayed  window. 

Orah  Rowland's  ,home  —  elegant,  stately,  and  refined,  was  an 
index  of  her  character.  Is  not  every  home  an  exponent  of  the 
character  and  tastes  of  its  inmates  ?  The  furnishing  of  an 
apartment  betrays  the  mood  and  mind  of  its  occupant,  no  less 
than  do  the  garments  one  wears,  the  glances  that  escape  them, 
the  words  they  utter ;  if  refinedly  beautiful,  graceful,  and  neat, 
indicating  well-cultivated  minds,  gentle  and  loving  natures,  —  if 
disorderly,  untidy,  formal,  or  presenting  an  array  of  costly  furni- 
ture disposed  with  a  mere  view  to  show,  then  betraying  un- 
trained, heedless,  cold,  selfish,  or  innately  vulgar  souls.  "  Out 
of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh : "  —  is  it 
wrong  to  add,  "  and  the  hand  doeth  "  ? 

(178) 


PEACE  :     OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL.  179 

It  matters  not  though  your  pictures  be  from  the  brush  of  a 
Claude  or  Rubens  —  your  curtains  of  silk  and  gold  —  your 
carpets  from  the  tapestries  of  the  Gobelins  —  your  statues  of 
the  delicately  pure  Italian  marble,  and  glowing  with  a  poet- 
sculptor's  inspiration  —  though  luxury  and  art  fling  down  for 
you  their  treasures  in  a  palace  —  if  no  tasteful  hand  arrange 
those  silken  hangings  into  graceful  folds,  no  artistic  eye  guide 
the  disposal  of  those  paintings  and  statues  with  due  regard  to 
the  effect  of  light,  shade,  or  fitness,  and  bind  flowers  in  accord- 
ance with  the  harmony  of  colors,  relieving  a  snowy  spray  or 
regal  crimson  blossom  by  a  foil  of  rich  glossy  green  —  then  you 
are  poor  indeed,  for  the  element  of  genuine  refinement  is  lack- 
ing. All  may  not  have  elegant  and  luxurious  homes  —  but, 
thank  God,  all  can  have  beautiful  ones  !  Flowers,  birds,  books, 
pictures  —  it  does  not  need  a  fortune  to  procure  these.  In  the 
pleasant  country,  flowers  are  the  Creator's  free  gifts  ;  everybody 
can  pluck  them  —  everybody  can  adorn  their  homes  with  them  ! 
And  even  in  the  stifled  courts  of  crowded  cities,  a  slip  of  mig- 
nonette or  verbena,  a  solitary  daisy,  though  blooming  in  a 
cracked  earthern  vessel  in  a  poor  man's  window,  will  do  more 
towards  keeping  pure  and  fresh  thoughts  and  influences  in  the 
hearts  of  the  lowly,  than  a  hundred  envious  glances  into  the 
splendid  conservatories  of  rich  men's  houses ;  pictures  —  the 
choice  engraving,  the  exquisite  lithograph,  the  cheap  print,  all 
embodying  some  artist's  idea  of  the  Beautiful  ^—  such  are  within 
the  reach  of  all ;  words  of  useful  teaching,  and  the  creations  of 
Poesy,  are  found  within  cheap  bindings,  in  this  "  age  of  books  ;  " 
and  birds,  though  caged,  trill  forth  such  echo-songs  as  a  Jenny 
Lind  never  sung. 

And  so  Orah  Rowland's  home,  with  its  massive  furniture 
carved  in  quaintest  design,  eloquent  statues,  pictures  wherein 
painters  had  wrought  out  their  lives,  the  conservatory  where 


180        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

tropical  birds  sang  amid  rarest  Indian  exotics  —  this  home,  so 
grand,  imposing,  yet  its  every  luxurious  detail  softened  and 
refined  by  a  woman's  hand,  was  a  fitting  exponent  of  the  char- 
acter and  tastes  of  its  elegant  and  accomplished  mistress. 

Since  the  time  of  her  school-days  at  Madame  Southworth's 
Seminary,  Orah  had  grown  very  beautiful.  Now,  as  she  stood 
in  the  faint  glow  of  the  candelabra  burners  —  her  rich  black 
hair,  satin-smooth,  reflecting  wavy  lines  of  light,  her  transparent 
olive  complexion  soft  and  creamy,  folds  of  emerald  velvet  drap- 
ing a  form  perfect  as  the  stately  Juno  in  its  niche,  long  loose 
sleeves  looped  up  by  a  single  gem  from  arms  perfect  in  their 
rounded  outline  as  the  Medicean  Venus  —  it  were  difficult  to 
conceive  a  being  more  proudly  beautiful. 

But  not,  like  the  marble  statue,  was  she  cold  and  pulseless. 
It  was  not  the  warming  hue  of  the  crimson  window  drapery 
bathing  her  cheek  in  such  a  burning  glow ;  and  by  the  restless 
clasping  and  unclasping  of  her  hands  over  her  heart,  the  nervous 
tapping  of  her  slippered  foot,  the  veiled  brilliancy  of  her  eye, 
and  the  heaving  respirations  escaping  her  scarlet  lips,  it  seemed 
that  some  strong  emotions  swayed  her  being. 

And  yet  that  evening,  moving  among  her  guests  with  queenly 
tread ;  scornfully  beating  back  the  haunting  gaze  of  impassioned 
eyes  that  followed  her  everywhere ;  her  haughty  shafts  of  wit 
and  pride  sending  forth  from  her  presence  one,  who,  in  going, 
bore  with  him  all  her  life  and  inspiration  ;  —  even  then,  that 
proud  girl,  who  had  hitherto  laughed  at  Cupid's  trammels,  would 
not  acknowledge  what  was  forced  upon  her  heart  in  the  stillness 
of  her  deserted  apartment  —  that  she  loved  ! 

Never  before  had  this  independent,  self-reliant  girl  met  the 
person  who  could  sway  to  his  her  own  strong  proud  will,  or 
kindle,  in  all  their  enduring  intensity,  the  fires  of  her  heart.  In 
society  she  had  been  the  recipient  of  much  attention  from  men 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        181 

of  intellect,  station  and  wealth  —  not  merely  because  she  was 
the  daughter  and  heiress  of  the  wealthy  and  honored  Judge 
Rowland,  but  for  the  very  originality  of  her  own  nature,  bearing 
with  it  its  own  peculiar  charm,  her  talents,  and  her  dark  rich 
style  of  beauty,  —  and  in  that  clime  where,  with  her  brother, 
she  had  made  her  home  for  the  year  following  her  graduation  — 
Italy  —  titled  lovers  had  sued  for  the  favor  of  the  accomplished 
American  girl ;  but  from  all  had  she  turned  with  untouched 
heart.  But  now  her  hour  had  come. 

And  to  whom  had  her  spirit  bowed  at  last  ?  And  why,  then, 
when  this  new  idol  was  enshrined  there,  did  she  —  by  some 
strange  anomaly  —  refuse  to  pay  it  homage  ?  Was  it  from 
coquetry  ?  No  !  Orah  Rowland's  nature  scorned  that.  It  might 
be  from  pride.  Let  us  see ;  and  to  do  this,  it  is  necessary  to 
review  a  little. 

Orah's  strong,  earnest,  unique  nature  had  one  safety-valve ;  — 
in  action.  There  were  no  idle  minutes  for  her ;  she  was  always 
employed ;  and  as  her  moods  changed,  so  her  many  absorbing 
pursuits.  Literature  was  a  passion  with  her :  now  it  was  the 
classics  —  now  the  sciences  —  now  the  arts,  and  lighter  accom- 
plishments. At  boarding-school,  French  had  been  to  her  like 
her  mother  tongue  ;  the  Italian  had  been  rapidly  and  easily 
acquired  abroad ;  since  her  return,  she  had  conquered  German, 
and  read  Goethe  and  Schiller  in  the  original ;  now  she  attended 
the  Opera  nightly,  and  next  day  dashed  off  scores  of  arias  and 
sonatas  —  for  her  musical  talent  was  unexceptionable ;  but  her 
latest  absorbing  penchant  was  the  Drama.  Not  a  "star"  ap- 
peared in  the  dramatic  world,  not  a  tragedy  or  comedy  was 
produced,  but  Judge  Rowland's  box  was  occupied  by  his  admired 
daughter,  attended  by  her  brother  Louis  —  now  a  rising  young 
lawyer  —  or  some  devoted  escort. 

16 


182  PEACE  :     OK   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

During  the  early  part  of  the  winter,  masquerades,  tableaux, 
and  fancy  balls,  were  much  in  vogue  in  that  exclusive  circle  of 
fashion  and  gayety  in  which  Orah  Rowland  moved  ;  but  at  last, 
satiated  with  the  constantly  recurring  round  of  amusement  — 
ball,  rout,  and  party  —  and,  secure  in  the  advantage  which  her 
elevated  position  in  society  afforded  her,  of  following  the  bent  of 
her  own  fancies,  she  resolved  to  depart  from  the  stereotyped 
order  of  entertainments,  and  introduce  a  novelty.  She  would 
give  private  theatricals. 

No  sooner  did  the  idea  strike  her,  than,  heart  and  soul,  she 
entered  into  her  preparations,  enlisting  her  brother  as  aid.  The 
play  decided  upon  was  Scott's  tragedy,  "  The  Bride  of  Lammer- 
moor."  She  would  enact  Lucy  Ashton ;  and  cards  were  issued. 
The  fashionable  world  was  delighted.  Young  ladies  voted  it 
"  charming ; "  gentlemen  forthwith  hunted  up  theatrical  versions 
of  the  tragedy,  prepared,  if  called  upon,  to  "  do "  Edgar  after 
the  most  approved  dramatic  style.  Orah  herself  studied  the 
heroine's  part  night  and  day ;  but,  among  her  circle  of  gentlemen 
friends,  Orah  could  single  no  one  who,  to  her  fastidious  taste, 
seemed  a  suitable  representative  of  the  dark,  gloomy  Edgar  of 
Ravenswood.  One  after  another  was  decided  upon,  —  then  dis- 
missed. This  one  had  no  just  conception  of  the  character ;  to 
another  she  had  a  personal  dislike,  and  would  not  be  supported 
by  him.  Thus,  from  daily  closetings  with  her  brother  she  came 
forth  undecided. 

At  last  Louis  Rowland  came  home  to  dinner  one  day  in  high 
satisfaction. 

"  Who  do  you  think  I  met  on  Broadway  this  morning,  Orah  ? 
An  old  friend,  and  just  the  fellow  for  your  Edgar.  A  bonafide 
actor,  too  !  Never  was  more  surprised  in  my  life  ! " 

"  An  actor  ?  an  old  friend  f  You  surely  are  dreaming, 
Louis ! "  replied  the  girl  in  surprise. 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  183 

"  No,  sis  —  a  fact !  But  you'd  never  imagine  him.  Seen  the 
young  actor  at  Mblo's  —  Carl:  Linn  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Well,  and  you  have  not  forgotten  that  summer  vacation  at 
Uncle  Reade's  farm  — -  nor  Jasper  Golding  ? "  —  and  Louis 
Howland  furtively  watched  his  sister.  "  The  actor  and  the  stu- 
dent are  the  same  ! " 

"  Oh,  Louis  !  "  Orah  half  sprang  from  her  chair ;  a  crimson 
blush  on  her  cheek  faded  suddenly  to  marble  white. 

"  Yes !  I  told  you,  I  believe,  how,  notwithstanding  his  high 
promise  at  Cambridge,  he  suddenly  neglected  study  —  every- 
thing, but  his  mad  pleasures  —  went  down  like  a  rocket,  and  was 
expelled  just  before  I  graduated.  I  traced  this  to  the  night 
when  he  received  a  letter.  What  that  letter  contained,  I  never 
knew.  He  seemed  mad  afterwards  ;  would  have  nobody's 
friendship  or  advice.  Poor  fellow  !  there  was  a  fascination 
about  him  I  never  could  resist ;  and  when  I  met  and  recognized 
him  to-day  —  though  he  seemed  ashamed,  and  not  until  I  pressed 
him  hard  for  his  present  whereabouts,  told  me  he  was  '  Carl 
Linn '  —  I  couldn't,  for  my  life,  let  him  slip  without  renewing 
our  old  friendship.  He  was  a  noble  fellow  —  the  germs  are  not 
dead  yet.  Wish  I  could  do  something  for  him,  without  touching 
his  pride !  His  second  inquiry  was.for  you.  Will  call  at  the 
office  this  afternoon.  Shall  I  ask  him  up  ?  " 

"  But,  an  actor  !  "  rushed  to  Orah's  lips.  She  did  not  utter  it, 
however.  For  three  years  she  had  borne  in  memory  that  frank, 
high-bred,  beautiful  boy,  whose  companionship  made  that  long 
pleasant  summer  vacation  a  golden'  dream.  She  remembered 
the  careless  grace  of  his  brown  curls,  the  gaze  of  his  deep  blue 
eyes  —  the  rides,  walks,  and  excursions  they  had  shared  those 
dreamy  summer  days  —  the  books  they  had  read,  and  the  poems 
repeated  hi  the  old  forests  —  like  a  dream  it  stole  athwart  her 


184        PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

brain  once  more ;  and  now,  he  was  near  her  once  agaiif ;  should 
her  own  pride  part  them  ? 

For  Orah  Rowland  shared  the  feeling,  so  common  in  society, 
regarding  the  votaries  of  the  Thespian  art.  She  revelled  in  the 
creations  of  the  great  dramatists ;  admired  the  genius  that  suc- 
cessfully and  truthfully  impersonated  those  creations ;  gave  the 
tribute  of  tears  and  hushed  breath  to  the  tragedian  who  from  the 
boards  of  a  theatre  wrought  upon  the  passions  of  immense  audi- 
tories ;  threw  bouquets  at  the  feet  of  cantatrices  and  comme- 
diennes  ;  but,  to  invite  an  actor  or  actress  to  her  own  home  —  to 
mingle  with  such,  in  private  life  —  ah,  that  was  quite  another 
thing! 

But,  Jasper  Golding !  what  mystery,  caprice,  or  maddening 
grief,  had  transformed  him,  the  ambitious  student,  to  an  actor  ? 
She  must  see  him! 

"  Yes,  bring  him,  Louis  ! "  was  her  reply. 

Rehearsals  were  over,  and  the  night  for  the  representation 
arrived.  At  the  farther  extremity  of  a  suite  of  apartments,  a 
stage  had  been  erected,  with  properties,  drop  curtain,  and 
scenery  painted  for  the  occasion,  and  a  hired  orchestra  stationed 
near  it ;  while  seats  arranged  in  a  semi-circle  accommodated  the 
"  house."  The  dresses  had  been  prepared  under  the  direction 
of  a  bona  fide  theatrical  costumer  ;  and,  as  the  play  went  on,  the 
rendition  of  every  character  was  perfect ;  Orah  Rowland  voted 
"  sweet,"  "  womanly,"  as  Lucy  Ashton ;  and  Edgar,  Master  of 
Ravenswood,  though  recognized  by  many  present  as  the  "  Carl 
Linn  "  of  the  dramatic  world  —  from  complaisance  to  their  hostess, 
whose  undeniable  right  to  "oddity"  was  fully  allowed,  aided 
also  by  his  own  manly  beauty  and  high-bred  demeanor  —  was 
politely  received  by  her  guests. 

The  play  over,  all  sojourned  to  an  elegant  refection ;  after 
which — the  quondam  theatre  converted,  meantime,  into  a  danc- 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        185 

ing  hall  by  the  removal  of  stage  and  seats  —  the  band  struck  up 
one  of  Strauss's  inspiring  waltzes,  and  Terpsichore  claimed  the 
remnant  of  the  night ;  nor  was  it  until  the  gray  morning  tints 
broke,  that  the  last  carriage  rolled  from  Judge  Rowland's  man- 
sion. - 

Next  day,  the  affair  was  discussed  over  late  breakfasts  and  in 
luxurious  boudoirs ;  and  one  or  two  evening  papers'  reported, 
under  the  head  of  "  Private  Theatricals,"  "  An  elegant,  unique, 
and  classical  entertainment,  given  last  night  at  the  princely  man- 
sion of  one  of  our  most  distinguished  citizens,  where  the  young 
hostess  —  already  one  of  our  reigning  belles  —  was  most  ably 
supported  in  the  dramatic,  representation  by  a  promising  young 
artist,  well-known  as  a  favorite  with  our  theatre-going  public." 

So  it  was  talked  about,  written  about,  read  about,  and  floated 
away  —  a  glittering  bubble  swept  down  the  restless  tide  of  fash- 
ionable life  ;  but  not  so^ —  as  other  fetes  which  had  come  and 
gone  like  dazzling  meteors  in  the  sky  of  her  social  life  —  not  so 
did  the  memory  of  that  night  fade  from  Orah  Rowland's  mind ; 
for  there,  in  the  midst  of  that  festival,  the  hour  which  comes  once 
to  every  woman,  came  to  her. 

In  every  scene  of  that  representation  —  the  rescue  in  the 
wood  —  Edgar's  unspoken  love,  when  the  desolate  "Wolf's  Crag 
gives  shelter  to  sweet  Lucy  Ashton  —  their  subsequent  betrothal 
at  the  Mermaiden's  Fountain  —  the  stern  Lady  Ashton's  com- 
mand, that  her  daughter's  love  be  transferred  to  Hayston  of 
Bucklaw  —  or  lastly,  when,  returned  from  over  seas,  her  fated 
lover  bursts  upon  the  marriage  rite,  crying  in  reproachful,  des- 
pairing, impassioned  accents,  "  I  am  still  Edgar  of  Ravenswood," 
and,  cold,  white,  statue-like,  at  the  behest  of  her  pitiless  mother, 
she  yields  the  broken  piece  of  gold  —  token  of  their  betrothal, 
—  followed  by  the  tragic  -finale,  —  in  every  scene,  so  absorbed, 
heart,  soul,  and  brain,  had  Orah  Howland  become  in  the  charac- 

16* 


186  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

ter  she  rendered,  that  everything  was  forgotten.  It  was  an 
actual,  living  reality.  She  returned  glance  for  glance  Edgar's 
love  —  fell  prone  to  the  floor  — •  and  when  the  curtain  fell,  was 
only  conscious  of  one  blest  emotion,  —  that  his  arms  were  around 
her,  her  head  upon  his  breast,  his  dying  kiss  upon  her  dying 
lips. 

But  the  reaction  came.  Afterwards,  when  her  friends  gath- 
ered around  her  with  compliments  on  her  "  splendid  acting  "  — 
when  she  caught  Jasper  Golding's  eye  bent  earnestly,  tenderly, 
almost  reproachfully  upon  her  —  when,  alone  in  her  own  room, 
she  thought  it  all  over  —  a  blush  of  vexation  came  to  her  cheek, 
and  a  haughty  curl  to  her  lip  ;  and,  by  a  strange  contradiction, 
while  she  revelled  in  her  old  intoxicating  memories  of  the  boy- 
student,  she  resolved  to  forget  the  boy-actor ;  burned  the  copy 
of  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor  she  had  studied ;  and,  as  she  un- 
bound her  midnight  hair  before  the  mirror,  paused  to.  laugh 
contemptuously,  "  This  is  well  of  Orah  Howland !  —  turning 
actress  !  " 

Afterwards,  there  were  many  in  fashionable  life  who  followed 
the  example  of  the  brilliant  belle.  Private  theatricals  became 
much  in  vogue  ;  "  Lady  of  Lyons,"  "  School  for  Scandal,"  and 
other  comedies,  were  successfully  produced.  Even  "  Carl  Linn," 
whose  entree  into  Judge  Rowland's  mansion  procured  him  that 
of  others,  received  many  invitations ;  but  in  none  of  these  enter- 
tainments, other  than  as  an  auditor,  could  Orah  be  persuaded  to 
mingle.  Yet  night  after  night  she  frequented  these  scenes ;  for 
there  she  met  one,  whom  —  strange  anomaly  in  woman's  heart ! 
—  she  both  sought  and  avoided. 

Now,  by  her  kindness  and  favoring  smiles,  she  won  him  to 
her  side  till  his  eye  spoke  the  old  tale  of  love ;  then,  haughtily 
cold,  she  noticed  his  presence  only  with  a  careless  nod.  Now, 
her  invitation  bade  him  welcome  to  her  own  house,  where,  even- 


PEACE  :  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  187 

ing  after  evening,  sitting  beside  him,  she  listened  to  impassioned 
readings ;  then,  in  enacting  the  dignified,  freezingly  courteous 
hostess,  she  plainly  pointed  out  the  difference  between  them. 
So  the  struggle  had  gone  on  in  her  heart,  till,  on  the  night  in 
question,  a  few  scornful  cutting  words  uttered  purposely  in  his 
hearing,  had  driven  forth  Jasper  Golding  with  a  proud  defiant 
blaze  in  his  flashing  eyes,  and  left  Orah  Rowland  to  -receive  the 
adieus  of  her  guests  with  a  smiling  lip,  —  and  afterwards,  to 
regret  vainly  the  utterance  she  could  not  recall. 

Every  woman  is  an  epicure  in  the  matter  of  the  affections. 
Let  hearts  be  laid  at  her  feet  as  plentifully  as  wayside  flowers 
bloom,  and  she  idly  plucks  them,  toys  with  them,  and  tosses 
them  to  the  winds  ;  but  let  one  become  suddenly  withdrawn,  or 
stand  "  afar  off  "  on  some  unattainable  height,  and  she  reaches 
forth  her  hands  longingly.  Nor  is  this,  as  some  would  have  us 
believe,  because  there  is  a  mixture  of  the  coquette  in  every 
nature ;  rather  let  it  be  accounted  for  on  the  principle  that 
"  blessings  brighten  as  they  take  their  flight,"  and  "  difficulty  to 
procure,  only  enhances  the  zest  of  passion."  Never  is  there  a 
flower  so  beautifuL  as  that  which  has  been  plucked  from  the 
brow  of  the  precipice  ;  never  a  pearl  so  rare  as  that  won  from 
deepest  ocean  caves  by  the  skilful  diver ;  never  a  heart  so  val- 
ued as  when  we  have  climbed  the  barren  steeps  of  Difficulty, 
waded  through  troubled  waters  of  Fear,  over  the  moorlands  of 
Doubt,  and  along  the  barren  shores  of  Despair,  then  wrested  it 
suddenly  for  our  own. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

Few — none  —  find  what  they  love  or  could  have  loved, 
Though  accident,  blind  contact,  and  the  strong 
Necessity  of  loving,  have  removed 
Antipathies. 

•  BTRON. 

JASPER  GOLDING  left  the  presence  of  Orah  Rowland,  and 
went  out  into  the  night.  He  walked  rapidly  —  now  in  the  shad- 
ows of  tall  buildings,  now  under  the  glare  of  street  lamps,  and 
then  threading  narrow  alleys  lighted  only  by  the  far  off  stars. 

Very  distant  they  seemed  to  him  that  night — the  serene  stars 
—  going,  as  he  did,  from  the  presence  of  one  who  had  been  the 
brightest  star  in  his  life's  sky,  but  who  stood  now  as  far  above 
him  as  the  orbs  in  the  deep  night  heavens. 

How  distant  always  they  seem  to  us  in  the  great  city  —  the 
holy  stars !  It  is  only  out  in  the  open  country ;  standing  on 
grassy  meadow  slopes,  in  orchard-reaches  white  with  drifts  of 
apple  blossoms,  on  some  hill  among  the  pinewoods,  or  in  cool 
shady  lanes,  that  the  heavens  seem  to  lean  down  lovingly  and 
the  stars  watch  us  like  tender  human  eyes.  There,  when  the 
gloaming  falls,  and  you  sit  alone  with  Nature  in  her  quietest 
moods,  when  the  night  comes  on  with  hushed  footsteps,  and 
"  With  the  night  the  stars  creep  o'er  -the  trees "  —  there  you 
learn  to  watch  their  coming  with  something  akin  to  love.  The 
pure  —  the  holy  stars  !  Sentinels  on  the  walls  of  heaven,  wav- 
ing their  little  naming  torches  on  every  pointed  tower  and  bat- 
tlement, lest  some  daring  intruder  attempt  to  scale  their  walls  — 

(188) 


PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  -    189    % 

yet  watching  you  tenderly,  compassionately,  all  the  while,  and 
beckoning  with  their  glimmering  lights,  "  Come  up  hither ! " 

But  in  mighty  cities,  where  the  pulses  of  life  are  never  wholly 
laid  to  sleep  —  where  the  jar  and  jangle  of  trade  is  scarce  hush- 
ed from  sunrising  to  sunrising  again  —  where  the  eye  is  blurred 
with  the  glitter  of  gold  and  the  heart  gets  weaned  from  mother 
Nature  —  where  crime  lurke  in  shadowy  corners  and  passions 
riot  in  human  hearts  —  there  the  stars  burn  faint  and  cold,  and 
the  heavens  stand  high  above  —  O  so  very  far  away ! 

And  so  they  seemed  few,  faint,  and  cold,  glimmering  in  the 
narrow  strip  of  sky  between  the  tall  brick  houses ;  and  brought 
no  quieting  influence  to  him  who  walked  on  rapidly  under  their 
beams  that  winter  night. 

"  So  distant !  so  high  above  me  ! "  he  muttered.  "  So  cold 
their  gaze,  like  the  gleam  of  a  proud  wcftnan's  eye !  So  far 
above  me  —  but  alas,  no  higher  than  is  she  !  In  her  bright 
world  of  fashion  and  beauty  and  pride,  what  cares  she  more  for 
the  humble  actor,  than  the  stars  for  the  earth-worm  that  crawls 
below  ?  Pitiful  fool  that  I  have  been  !  because  she  treated  me 
with  kindness,  I  have  dared  to  worship  her !  Why  did  I  not 
keep  away  from  her  ?  why,  night  after  night,  did  I  go  into  her 
presence,  to  sit  by  her  side,  listen  to  her  words,  feed  upon  her 
beauty,  till  my  brain  grew  maddened  ?  I,  who  should  have 
been  her  equal  —  but  am  —  what  ?  The  veriest  thing  upon 
whom  she  would  look,  aye,  upon  whom  shethas  looked  this  night, 
with  scorn.  And  who  made  me  what  I  am?  who  smote  me 
from  the  same  level  with  her  ?  Curses  on  him  who,  bankrupt 
in  honor,  stands  this  night  in  high  places,  while  his  child  goes 
forth  with  the  weight  of  her  cutting  scorn  on  his  head  !  Oh 
these  heartless,  dissolute  men  of  the  world !  they  send  their  vic- 
tims broken-hearted  to  the  grave  —  they  bequeathe  to  the  fruit 
of  their  sin  the  dowry  of  shame  7—  and  the  world  fawns  on  and 


190  -      PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

flatters  them,  as  though  their  hollow  rotten  hearts  were  the  re- 
ceptacle of  truth  and  honor  !  Oh,  I  would  rather  own  my  father 
among  the  poorest  day  laborers  in  this  city  —  yes,  rather  earn 
my  bread  by  the  humblest  drudgery,  than  live  this  life,  madden- 
ed by  this  crushing  stain.  Men  may  not  know  it  —  they  may 
not  call  me  by  my  rightful  name.  —  She  does  not  know  what 
dashed  my  boyhood  dreams  to  earth  —  but  it  is  eating  into  my 
heart's  core.  It  has  brought  me  to  this  life ;  —  it  has  brought 
me  to  her  scorn ;  —  for  did  I  not  hear  her  say,  not  a  half  hour 
agone,  with  a  contemptuous  smile  that  stabbed  me  to  the  heart 

—  "  Oh  no  !  I  could  never  marry  an  actor  !  "     "  An  actor !  "  and 
his  Hp  curled  bitterly,  then  after  a  slight  pause  his  eye  kindled, 
and  he  muttered  almost  defiantly,  "  Proud  girl !  I  wish  I  could 
prove  to  you  that  I  am  not  wholly  unworthy !  —  Can  it  be,  that 
this  alone  divides  us-?     By  heaven,  if  I  thought  so" — and  his 
eye  softened.     "If  I  thought  so!   but  no,  I  am  a  fool  —  and 
yet,  a  thought  strikes  me  —  a  thought  strikes  me  — '.it  may  be  so 

—  I  will-  do  it ! "   and  he  walked  rapidly  on. 

Onward  still  he  kept  his  way  through  lighted  streets  and  dim 
alleys,  until,  striking  into  a  great  thoroughfare,  he  trod  half  its 
length  and  paused  before  a  large  stone  edifice,  its  front  rich  with 
architectural  adornment,  and  its  entire  upper  story  brilliant  with 
the  glare  of  gas.  The  broad  entrance  hall  was  light  as  day, 
revealing  a  flight  of  massive  stone  stairs,  with  a  ticket  office  on 
each  side ;  large  posters  about  the  sidewalk  and  entrance,  before 
which  he  paused,  announced,  "  the  last  night,  positively,  of  the 
celebrated  "  star  actress,"  and  the  "  appearance  of  the  favorite 
danseuse,  Gabrielle  Franck ; "'  and  the  full  tide  of  orchestra  music 
sweeping  down  the  broad  staircase,  to  which  a  few  loungers  beat 
time  with  their  heels  on  the  pavement,  announced  that  Jasper 
stood  before  a  theatre. 

But  evidently  he  was  no  stranger  here  —  for,  muttering  as 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        191 

the  music  swept  louder  down  the  staircase,  "  It  is  the  interlude 
—  I  am  just  in  time,"  he  walked  rapidly  past  the  'little  knot  of 
loungers,  turned  into  a  narrow  by-way  at  the  extremity  of  the 
building,  and  entered  the  theatre  by  a  rear  door.  Making  his 
way  up  a  flight  of  dimly  lighted  stairs,  stooping  to  avoid  beams 
and  rafters,  hastening  through  dusky  cobwebbed  passages,  turn- 
ing a  corner,  then  coming  into  a  lighted  passage  and  opening  a 
door  whence  came  the  sound  of  voices  and  laughter,  he  stood 
within  the  green-room. 

The  play  had  been  one  of  Snakspeare's  tragedies,  and  seve- 
ral actors  and  actresses  were  huddled  about  the  green-room  fire 
en  costume  —  princes,  soldiers,  maids  of  honor  and  peasants,  all 
on  the  most  republican  footing  —  the  "  star  "  alone  being  absent 
in  her  dressing-room ;  —  and,  as  "  Carl  Linn "  entered,  more 
than  one  friendly  hand  was  extended. 

"  Ah,  Linn,  glad  to  see  you,  my  boy ! "  exclaimed  one. 
"  Been  into  the  house  ?  —  No  ?  Why  it's  a  crowder  —  crammed, 
packed,  from  pit  to  ceiling,  like  a  drum  of  figs.  The  "  star  "  draws 
like  mustard.  Pity  we  poor  stock  actors  -couldn't  line  our  purses, 
likewise  !  Wonder  when  our  name  will  draw  half  Gotham  ?  " 

"  Oh,  patience  !  patience  !  "  exclaimed  another,  good-humor- 
edly.  "  We'll  strut  our  "  brief  hour  upon  the  stage  "  of  public 
enthusiasm,  by-and-by.  But  how  is  it.  Linn,"  turning  to  Jasper, 
"  how  is  it  about  this  streak  of  good  luck  that's  turned  up  for 
you  ?  True  enough,  I  suppose !  Well  —  well "  —  winking  sig- 
nificantly, "some  folks  are  born  with  silver  spoons  in  their 
mouths ! " 

Jasper's  only  reply  was  a  glance  of  surprise,  at  which  his 
companion  laughed. 

"  Ah,  look  at  the  innocent !  Plays  his  part  capitally  !  You'll 
do,  Linn  !  But  I  can't  help  wishing  that  accomplished,  hand- 
some, and  wealthy  belles  —  like  this  Miss  Howland  —  who  hap- 


192        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

pen  to  take  fancies  to  good  looking  young  actors,  were  not,  like 
angel's  visits,  "  few  and  far  between."  Wonder  if  our  handsome 
phiz  will  not  make  our  fortune,  too  ? "  and  he  complacently 
stroked  his  chin  before  a  mirror? 

Jasper  bit  his  lip,  and  a  frown  darkened  his  hrow. 

"  Let  Miss  Rowland's  name  be  unheard  here  !  "  he  said  with 
withering  hauteur. 

"  Aha !  Coming  the  nabob  already  ?  "  replied  Dunn,  with  a 
sarcastic  laugh.  "  So  your  divinity  is  too  fine-  china  to  be  men- 
tioned alongside  such  crockery  as  trips  on  yonder  boards  ?." 
pointing  to  the  stage.  "  Ah  !  well  —  I  suppose  that's  perfectly 
natural  now !  But  don't  look  daggers  at  me,  my  dear  fellow. 
Macbeth's  done  murder  enough,  for  one  night.  I'm  off  for  the 
farce.  Au  revoir!"  and  as  the  manager  entered  the  green- 
room, Dunn,  followed  by  half  dozen  others,  made  their  exit  to 
change  costumes. 

"Mr.  Forbes,  a  moment  with  you,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said 
Jasper,  as  that  gentleman  greeted  him  with  a  courteous,  "  Good 
evening,  Linn,"  and  was  moving  on.  They  withdrew  to  a  cor- 
ner. Jasper  was  very  pale. 

"  My  engagement  is  sooa  up,  I  think,  sir,"  said  Jasper. 

"  Yes,  in  a  fortnight.  But  why  do  you  ask,  Linn  ?  You  will 
continue  with  us,  I  take  it  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  wanted  to  speak  about,  to-night.  I  mean  to 
quit  this  life." 

"  What !  quit  the  stage,  young  man  ?  "  and  the  manager  step- 
ped back,  amazed. 

"  Yes,  sir ! "   answered  Jasper,  firmly. 

"It  is  a  new  move,  I  imagine?"  said  Mr.  Forbes  after  a 
slight  pause.  "  Of  course  you  know  your  own  reasons  best, 
Linn,  but  I'm  sorry.  You  have  every  requisite  for  success  as 
an  actor — face,  voice,  figure,  and  elocutionary  powers — couldn't 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  193 

fail,  with  study  and  training,  to  stand  high  on  the  list.  I  fear 
you  are  taking  a  step  you'll  repent.  Better  '  nip  it  in  the  bud,' 
Linn  ! " 

"Mr.  Forbes,"  and  Jasper  spoke  somewhat  nervously,  "you 
have  belonged  to  this  profession  all  your  days,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  you  like  it  2.    You  think  it  an  honorable  one  ?  " 

"  Aye,  aye  !  Most  certainly  I  do,  young  sir ! "  and  the  man- 
ager brought  his  hand  down  heavily  on  a  chair.  "  I  regard  the 
Drama  as  one  of  the  most  important  branches  of  Art,  —  which 
ca*  be  made  subservient,  not  only  to  man's  amusement,  but  to 
his  elevation  and  advancement.  I  regard  it  —  but  no  matter, 
there  is  no  time  now  to  enter  into  a  discussion  of  the  subject. 
But  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  You  have,  in  the  course  of  your  career,  seen  men  come  up 
from  the  humblest  walks  of  life  to  the  highest  rank  in  their  pro- 
fession ?  "  asked  Jasper,  evading  an  answer. 

"  Yes  —  yes  !  "  and  the  manager  rubbed  his  hands.  "  I  did 
that  myself —  that  is,  I  rose  from  '  the  people,'  and  am  proud  to 
say  it.  Was  call-boy,  supe,  toiling  actor,  and  '  star '  eventually. 
I  tell  you,  my  dear  boy,  the  reward  comes  sooner  or  later." 

"  And  you  had  a  great  deal  to  contend  against  —  the  opinions 
of  many  —  their  prejudices  against  actors  as  a  class,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  of  course,  young  sir  !  Don't  you  know  that's 
a  '  perquisite '  of  our  profession  ? "  and  the  manager  smiled 
somewhat  sarcastically.  "  In  '  this  enlightened  nineteenth  cen- 
tury '  there  are  thousands  who,  from  sheer  ignorance,  possessing 
neither  love  nor  appreciatfon  for  the  sublime  Dramatic  art,  hurl 
their  anathemas  against  the  wickedness  of  the  stage  and  the 
heinous  sin  of  countenancing  its  followers.  They  talk  learnedly 
of  classic  beauty,  and  describe  eloquently  some  master-piece 
from  the  sculptor's  chisel  —  order  paintings  from  the  old  masters 

17 


194  PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

—  pay  some  mustachioed  piano-torturer  exorbitant  sums  to  teach 
their  daughters  Italian  operas  and  German  waltzes — but  straight- 
way contemn  the  interpreter  of  Shakspeare's  sublimest  tragedies, 
and  utterly  ignore  him  a  position  in  social  life.     I  tell  you,  my 
young  friend,  these  are  not  the  days  of  the  old  Greeks,  when  an 
actor's  profession  was  looked  upon  as  most  honorable  —  when 
such  sat  at  the  tables  of  dignitaries  —  and  some  of  the  highest 
officers  of  the  State  were  ardent  votaries  of  Thespia  —  when 
Sophocles,  -<Eschylus,  and  Euripides  wrote  tragedies,  and  ap- 
peared in  them,  too,  holding  also  highest  command  in  civil  and 
political  life ;  but  I  am  confident  such  times  will  return,  — Al- 
ready, so  me,  by  the  majesty  of  Genius  and  transcendent  talents 
have  broken  down  the  conventional   pale  which  has  hitherto 
separated  the  actor  from  the  social  world.     Such  have  taken 
their  proper  station  -r  others  will  follow ;   and  the  time  is  not 
distant  when  the  condemned  '  play  actor  '  will  be  acknowledged 
as  necessary  and  beneficial  an  element  in  the  grand  economy  of 
society  as  the  sculptor,  painter,  or  poet  —  for  his  profession  is 
but  another  form  of  Art.     Yet  not  by  Genius,  or  talent,  solely, 
will  this  be  accomplished  ;  there  are  nobler  attributes  that  go  to 
make  up  the  sum  total  of  his  good  character.     I  tell  you,  Linn," 
and  he  laid  his  hand  on  Jasper's  arm,  "  it  is  not  the  profession 
that  makes  the  man,  but  the  man  his  profession.     Making  your 
Art  subservient  to  the  cause  of  morality  and  refinement,  and 
beautifying  it  by  the  example  of  an  honorable  upright  life,  you 
c:m  be  as  useful  a  member  of  society  —  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say, 
as  good  a   Christian  —  as  any  one  of  the  carping  critics,  no 
matter  what  position  they  may  fill,  who  so  sweepingly  condemn 
you  !     But  bless  me,  what  a  sermon  I  am  preaching  !  "  pulling 
out  his  watch.     "  And  after  all,  I  suppose  it's  entirely  uncalled 
for.     Somebody  has  been  looking  down  on  you  ?  —  some  lady- 
love, perhaps,  '  cuts '  the  '  actor '  ?   ah,  '  there's  the  rub,'  I  irn- 


PEACE:   OK  ?HE  STOLEN  WILL.  195 

agine  ?  "  and  the  manager  smiled  as  Jasper  colored  violently 
and  consciously  —  "Well,  never  mind  it,  Linn!  go  to  work  like 
a  man  —  laugh  at  her  —  forget  her  —  make  Fame  your  mis- 
tress —  and,  ten  to  one,  five  years  from  now,  on  yonder  boards," 
pointing  to  the  stage,  "  she'll  throw  her  bouquets  at  your  feet." 

The  flush  died  from  Jasper's  face,  leaving  him  very  pale. 
Whether  or  not  the  manager's  words  had  struck  to  the  depths  of 
his  soul,  he  made  no  answer. 

"  Do  you  think  the  actor's  life  a  happy  one  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why  bless  you,  yes ! "  replied  Mr.  Forbes  in  apparent  amaze- 
ment. "  It  is  like  every  other  —  one  of  toil  —  but  after  the 
toil  comes  the  reward.  And  such  a  reward !  To  sway  men's 
hearts  —  every  emotion  and  passion  —  as  the  mountain  wind 
bends  the  tree,  shrub,  and  flower,  —  to  bring  tears  or  smiles, 
sobs,  or  shouts  of  enthusiastic  delight,  at  your  own  mood,  —  to 
sow  germs  which  shall  afterward  ripen  into  thought  and  action 
—  to  ride  on  the  topmost  wave  of  public  favor  !  Why,  my  boy, 
the  intellectual  pleasure  in  itself,  accruing  to  an  actor's  pro- 
fession, must  afford  him  the  keenest  satisfaction,  aside  from 
personal  emolument." 

For  a  moment  Jasper's  face  glowed  and  his  eye  flashed  with 
the  fires  of  youthful  enthusiasm ;  then  the  strong,  deep  under- 
current of  his  new  resolve  swept  through  his  heart.  The  glow 
faded,  and  his  glance  became  fixed  and  gloomy.  He  said 
moodily,  in  a  bitter  undertone,  "  The  picture  is  alluring,  but  her 
hand  dashes  it  out."  Then,  turning  to  the  manager,  he  con- 
tinued — 

"  And  so,  regarding  this  as  a  happy,  honorable  life,  you-  rec- 
ommend it.  And  if  you  had  a  son,  you  would  educate  him  for 
the  stage  ?  " 

"  Why,  Linn,  I  never  had  wife  or  children  —  but  if  a  tal- 
ented, enthusiastic  young  fellow  like  yourself  called  me  father, 


196  PEACE  :    OB   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

certainly  it  would  be  my  ambition  some  day  to  see  him  a  star 
actor." 

"  But  a  daughter,  sir  ?  " 

"  A  daughter,  too  ?  Why,  of  course  —  well,  let  me  see  — 
after  all,  though  from  the  days  of  Mrs.  Siddons  downwards, 
women  have  graced  the  profession  —  after  all,  I  rather  think  — 
confound  it,  -no  !  A  daughter  of  mine  shouldn't  be  an  actress  ! 
But,  bless  me  !  preaching  a  homily,  then  refuting  it  with  my 
next  breath  !  "  and  the  manager  smiled.  "  But  I  am  positive 
my  daughter  shouldn't  be  an  actress  !  " 

u  Nor  a  dancer  f  "  Jasper  spoke  short  and  bitterly. 

"A  ballet-girl !  Never!  "  and  the  manager  brought  his  hand 
down  emphatically. 

"  And  yet  she  —  that  young  and  delicate  girl ! "  and  the  youth 
pointed  to  the  stage  whence  the  rich  music  swelled  out  in  deli- 
cious measures.  . 

Mr.  Forbes  moved  uneasily.  "  Yes  —  yes  —  I  know.  Poor 
young  thing  !  It  is  a  pity  !  " 

"  And  yet,  sick,  feeble,  suffering  as  she  is,  you  offered  her  this 
night's  engagement.  This  is  your  mercy ! "  The  words  fell 
sarcastically  from  Jasper's  lips. 

The  manager  grew  very  red.  "  Bless  me,  young  sir,  what 
would  you  have  me  do  ?  Are  your  feelings,  or  mine,  the  stand- 
ard ?  I  must  give  the  public  novelties  !  They  will  have  a 
beautiful  ballet-girl !  She  draws  !  " 

"  Yes  sir,  I  understand  you,"  replied  the  young  man  sternly. 
"  Gabrielle  Franck  draws.  Of  the  hundreds  who  sit  in  yonder 
theatre-room  to-night,  full  one  third  —  the  men,  the  lads,  who 
crowd  the  parquette,  and  the  veteran  roues  who  level  their 
lorgnettes  from  their  crimson-curtained  boxes  —  they  came 
hither,  caring  neither  for  tragedy,  or  farce,  or  'star'  actress,  but 
solely  to  watch  the  young  dancing  girl !  Ah  yes,  I  under- 


PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  197 

stand  now!  Her  name  on  your  bills  packs  the  theatre.  Poor 
Gabrielle  ! " 

The  manager  breathed  hard.  "  Linn,  I  never  saw  it  in  this 
light  before,  so  witness  me  Heaven  !  Ill  and  suffering  ?  I  never 
dreamed  of  that!  When  I  offered  her  the  engagement,  she 
accepted  it  eagerly,  gratefully ;  and  I  regarded  her  but  as  a 
beautiful  child  whose  graceful  dancing  had  made  her  the  people's 
favorite,  and  whom,  if  /  did  not  secure,  some  other  manager 
would.  Ah,  this  life  has  some  drawbacks,  after  all!  Catering 
for  the  taste  of  the  public,  satisfying  alike  the  appetite  of  the 
epicure  and  the  gourmand,  is  not  the  easiest  or  most  enviable 
task  in  the  world.  But  Linn,  I  have  excused  some  pretty  plain 
speaking  on  your  part  —  youth  are  hot-headed,  sometimes  — 
now  what  means  your  interest  in  Gabrielle  ?  I  heard,  at  the 
time,  about  your  rescuing  her  from  that  terrible  fire  —  and  have 
overheard  lately  that  you  are  much  in  her  society.  Young  man, 
I  have  more  faith  in  you,  than  to  suppose  you  would  deliberately 
injure  that  poor  child  ?  " 

A  flush  dyed  Jasper's  pure  white  forehead.  He  spoke 
proudly. 

"  Mr.  Forbes,  I  may  have  been  reckless,  but  of  such  wicked- 
ness as  your  words  seem  to  imply  I  thank  God  I  am  innocent ! 
Gabrielle  Franck  is,  to  me,  as  a  younger  sister." 

"  I  believe  you,  my  lad,"  and  the  manager  held  out  his  hand 
kindly.  "  But  remember,  that  the  world  sees  through  its  own 
stained  vision,  and  oftentimes  refuses  to  sanction  what  it  cannot 
comprehend.  Your  own  good  sense  will  show  you  that  the 
dancing  girl  is  very  beautiful,  and  an  orphan ;  and  with  such  the 
tongues  of  many  will  be  busy.  But  enough.  You  are  not 
angry  that  I  have  given  you  this  hint  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Forbes,  you  are  my  best  friend."  Jasper's  voice  was 
17* 


198  PEACE  :    OK   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

agitated  as  he  grasped  the  proffered  hand ;  but  the  deep  flush 
had  not  wholly  faded  from  his  forehead. 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  this !  "  he  continued.  "  Tell  me  who 
has  dared  speak  thus  ! "  —  and  his  eye  flashed  fire. 

"  No  more  !  Not  another  word.  Let  what  I  have  said  guide 
you  for  the  future.  Now  about  yourself.  If  you  believe  me 
your  best  friend,  prove  it  by  staying  with  my  Company.  I  will 
advance  you  rapidly." 

"  I  thank  you  —  I  thank  you  with  my  whole  heart !  but  I 
must  leave  the  stage,"  was  the  firm  reply. 

"  Then  if  your  resolve  is  taken,  I  will  not  seek  to  change  it. 
What  have  you  decided  upon  ?  " 

"My  resolution  is  recent.  I  have  hardly  thought  of  the 
future.  Possibly  I  may  take  the  Law." 

"  Good  !  It  will  suit  you  —  and  you  will  suit  it !  I  must 
go !  "  —  again  pulling  forth  his  watch.  "  A  fortnight  hence,  look 
out  for  your  '  benefit  night.'  I  shall  announce  '  Lady  of  Lyons.' 
So  please,  meantime,  study  '  Claude '  with  your  whole  soul,  and 
I'll  promise  you  a  bumper  at  parting.  Good  night ! "  —  and  the 
kind-hearted,  genial  manager  hastened  away. 

Meantime,  upon  the  stage  —  advancing,  retreating,  poising 
herself  on  the  tip  of  her  dainty  foot,  then  circling  in  rapid  evolu- 
tions or  gliding  athwart  the  'boards  with  passionate  graceful 
bounds,  her  yielding  form  turning  with  every  movement  of  the 
undulating  music  swells  —  Gabrielle  Franck,  the  ballet-girl, 
appeared  in  a  dreamy,  voluptuous  Oriental  dance.  She  was  a 
French  girl  of  rare  and  wondrous  beauty  —  a  very  child,  of 
scarce  fifteen  summers,  notwithstanding  the  perfection  of  an  ex- 
quisitely symmetrical  form.  When  she  bounded  upon  the  stage 
like  a  young  gazelle,  and  softly  dashed  into  the  dance  —  her  lux- 
uriant ebon  hair  in  short,  crisp  curls,  her  eyes  flashing  like  night- 
stars,  her  cheeks  crimson,  and  lips  like  petals  of  the  damask  rose 


PEACE  :    OB   THE    STOLEN    WILL.  199 

wreathed  with  smiles  —  every  movement  betraying  limbs  of 
faultless  proportions  —  the  slender  ancle,  dainty  foot,  and  neck 
and  arms  of  polished-marble  whiteness  —  she  seemed  the  living, 
breathing  actuality  of  the  phrase  "  poetry  of  motion." 

"  By  heavens  !  this  French  girl's  dance  has  a  soul  to  it ! " 
ejaculated  a  stranger  who  looked  upon  her  for  the  first  time  ; 
and  certainly,  while  the  flash  of  her  eyes  brightened,  and  her 
color  came  and  went  with  each  change  in  the  measure,  and  the 
audience  sat  spell-bound  giving  her  the  tribute  of  breathless 
silence,  it  seemed  as  though  the  tide  of  her  own  being  rose  and 
fell  with  the  swaying  of  her  gliding  form. 

At  length,  when  the  last  graceful  passes  were  finished,  and  she 
sank  away  into  a  graceful  courtesy,  her  white  arms  meekly 
crossed  over  her  bosom,  seemingly  awaiting  their  dictum,  the 
audience  rose  en  masse  to  their  feet,  a  storm  of  applause  beat 
the  air,  and  a  rain  of  flowers  and  jewels  fell  before  her.  With  a 
graceful  movement,  the  danseuse  gathered  up  the  gifts,  buried 
her  crimsoning  face  in  the  gorgeous  blossoms ;  then  archly  rais- 
ing her  head  bowed  her  thanks,  and,  flinging  kisses  from  her 
white  fingers,  bounded  off  the  stage. 

Down  came  the  heavy  drop-curtain ;  the  enthusiam  of  the 
audience  died  away  into  murmurs  of  applause ;  and  the  ballet- 
master,  with  a  smile  of  gratification,  caught  Gabrielle's  arm  as 
she  passed  through  the  side  scenes,  — 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  have  had  a  triumph.  The  Manager  shall 
double  your  salary.  I  will  speak  to  him." 

"  Oui,  thank  you,  monsieur ! "  said  the  ballet-girl  faintly, 
hurrying  on. 

The  Manager's  voice  was  heard,  the  call-boy  and  prompter 
came  rushing  to  their  stations,  the  bell  tinkled  for  the  raising  of 
the  curtain,  one  or  two  scene-shifters  returned  from  the  stage, 
and  a  light  footfall,  with  the  rustling  of  silks,  came  down  the  pas- 


200        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

sage  where  Gabrielle  had  paused  from  sheer  exhaustion.  It 
was  the  "star"  actress.  The  ballet-girl  drew  back,  but  not 
until  she  had  witnessed  the  haughty  withdrawal  of  rich  robes 
which  brushed  her  in  passing,  as  though  her  touch  were  con- 
tamination. Quietly  and  humbly  she  crept  away.  The  green- 
room was  not  yet  deserted  ;  but  the  door  of  the  "  star  "  dressing 
room  was  ajar,  and  she  stole  in.  "  She  will  never  know  it !  Oh, 
I  am  weary  —  so  weary ! "  —  and  she  sank  on  the  sofa,  her  bur- 
den of  flowers  falling  on  the  carpet.  The  crimson  had  faded 
from  cheek  and  lips ;  she  pressed  her  hand  convulsively  on  her 
side,  and  a  hard  dry  racking  cough  rent  her  frame. 

The  door  softly  shut  —  a  step  was  beside  her.  "  My  poor 
child  ! "  —  and  Jasper  Golding  sat  down  and  gathered  her  to  his 
heart.  How  thin  they  were,  the  white  hands  she  clasped  on  his 
shoulder !  and  the  polished  arms  seemed  fearfully  emaciated ! 
Was  this  the  same  lithe  active  form,  this  the  same  blooming 
face  —  now  nerveless,  drooping,  and  pale  —  that  had  en- 
thralled in  yonder  theatre  room  ?  Ah  yes  !  Have  you  not 
known  how  a  powerful  will  and  strong  excitement  can  lend 
momentary  strength  to  exhaustion,  and  the  flush  of  beauty  to 
disease  ?  For  the  ballet-girl,  Gabrielle  Franck,  who  that  night 
had  danced  before  the  crowd  with  crimsoned  cheek  and  spark- 
ling eye,  and  lips  all  wreathed  with  smiles,  was  slowly  dying  of 
consumption  ! 

Again  that  dry,  racking  cough,  succeeded  by  a  low  moan  of 
fatigue. 

"  Oh  Gabrielle,  you  are  killing  yourself !  Why  did  you 
come  here  to-night  ?  —  with  this  cough,  too !  Did  you  not 
promise  me  you  would  not  come  here  again  so  long  as  you 
were  ill  ?  I  was  pained,  when  I  saw  your  name  announced 
for  to-night.  Why  is  this  ?  "  —  and  his  tone  was  grave,  almost 
stern. 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  201 

There  was  no  answer ;  but  the  ballet-girl's  head  drooped  lower 
on  his  shoulder,  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  means  this  ? "  asked  Jasper,  wrapping  his  cloak 
about  her ;  for  in  her  thin  drapery  she  was  shivering  vio- 
lently. 

"  Oh  Carl,  Carl ! "  she  said  after  a  little  pause,  "  go  away  and 
leave  me.  I  have  been  wicked  in  disobeying  you ;  but  I  was 
very  miserable,  and  wanted  to  get  away  from  myself.  I  thought 
you  had  forgotten  me  !  " 

"  Forgotten  you  !  Why,  my  poor  child,  what  do  you  mean  ? 
Who  told  you  this  ?  " 

"Carl,  don't  be  angry!"  —  and  Gabrielle  raised  her  eyes 
humbly  but  reproachfully.  "  They  told  me  how  the  beautiful 
rich  lady  had  invited  you  to  her  home  —  how  her  pride  and  her 
beauty  had  made  you  her  slave.  And,  too,  you  did  not  come 
to  me  for  many  long  days !  0,  I  was  sure  you  had  forgotten 
me !  Then  my  head  seemed  all  on  fire.  Then  the  Manager 
came,  I  was  glad.  I  could  come  here  and  forget,  for  a  lit- 
tle ! " 

"  My  foolish  Gabrielle  !  So  you  believed  idle  gossip,  and  in 
a  fit  of  pique  came  here  to  dance  when  you  were  so  ill !  That 
was  not  right  —  was  it,  little  one?  I  ought  to  scold  you  for 
this ! " 

"  Then  it  was  all  wrong,  Carl !  You  do  not  love  this  proud 
beautiful  stranger  ?  You  will  not  forget  Gabrielle  ?  "  —  and  she 
let  her  head  fall  confidingly  on  his  shoulder. 

Did  not  love  Orah  Rowland  ?  Would,  indeed,  it  were  not  so, 
thought  Jasper  then.  Would  he  could  say  to  that  clinging  child 
for  whom  he  felt  a  pure  brother-friendship,  "  No,  I  do  not  love 
this  proud  girl  so  far  above  me!"  But  he  could  not.  Nor 
would  he  wound  Gabrielle  by  an  avowal  of  a  sentiment  which, 
in  that  hour  —  reading  the  artless  heart  open  before  him  —  he 


202  PEACE  :     OK   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

felt  would  give  her  pain.  So  he  only  said  soothingly,  caressing 
her  damp  forehead  with  his  palm  : 

"  Gabrielle,  fear  not  that  I  shall  forget  you.  You  are  to  me 
as  a  dear  child  —  a  beloved  sister  !  " 

"  Child !  sister ! "  Gabrielle  sprang  erect  to  her  feet.  The 
crimson  on  her  cheek  faded  to  deathly  paleness.  "  And  I  am 
only  this  to  you  ?  It  is  enough !  I  do  not  blame  you  !  But  go 
away  and  leave  me.  I  want  to  be  alone.  You  do  love  her ! 
Go  !  —  may  the  Virgin  give  you  happiness  !  Why  do  you  not 
go  ?  "  —  and  she  clasped  her  hands  beseechingly. 

"  Gabrielle,"  —  and  Jasper  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  down 
to  his  side  again,  —  "  What  makes  you  want  to  send  me  from 
you  ?  This  lady,  of  whom  you  have  heard,  is  nothing  —  nothing 
—  to  me  !  I  am  a  poor  actor,  and  she  scorns  such  !  Sit  clown 
here,  Gabrielle." 

The  trusting  girl  did  not  heed,  the  hopelessness  of  his  tone  as 
she  sank  down  by  Jasper.  Had  he  spoken  falsely  ?  he  asked 
his  heart.  No.  In  her  beauty  and  her  pride,  Orah  Rowland 
was  nothing  to  him  —  the  actor. 

"  Then  I  need  not  go  away  ?  "  —  and  Gabrielle  nestled  closer. 
"  Oh  Carl,  I  am  so  happy  here !  I  wish  it  were  always  thus. 
O,  I  have  been  so  wretched  !  You  do  not  know.  They  cannot 
come  here  with  their  strange  looks,  and  shrug  their  shoulders, 
and,  when  your  name  is  spoken,  gay  '  Hush,  hush  !  poor  thing ! ' 
Carl,  what  does  it  mean  ?  I  have  not  been  wicked  —  but  they 
all  look  at  me  so !  they  shun  me  !  Nobody  cares  for  me  at  all ! 
What  does  it  mean,  Carl  ?  " 

Jasper's  eye  darkened,  and  he  bit  his  lip.  He  could  not  meet 
the  unclouded,  innocent  eyes  lifted  to  his  own.  Mr.  Forbes's  words 
rushed  upon  him.  "  Had  I  known  this  before  !  "  he  muttered. 
"  Base,  craven,  malicious,  lying  gossips !  Could  ye  not  spare  her  ? 
Must  your  blighting  breath  taint  the  good  name  of  a  child  $  " 


PEACE  :  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  203 

In  that  moment,  looking  upon  his  troubled  face  and  averted 
eyes,  Gabrielle  comprehended  all.  Very  quietly  she  rose, 
dropped  his  hand,  and  paused  before  him.  A  blush  dyed  her 
forehead ;  her  form  seemed  dilated ;  she  looked  no  longer  a 
child,  but  a  commanding  woman. 

"  Carl,"  —  and  her  voice  was  soft  and  sweet  as  a  lute-string 

—  "I    see   it  all  now.     I  was  blind.     I  know  now  why  they 
looked  so  at  me  —  why  they  smiled  at  each  other.    But  the  Mary 
Mother  knows  that,  dearly  as  I  love  you  —  and  Carl,  if  need  be, 
I  would  lie  down  and  die  for  you  to-night !  —  dearly  as  I  love 
you,  I  prize  a  good  name  better.     You  saved  my  life  —  you 
were  all  I  had  left  to  love  !  "  —  and  tears  dropped  down  on  her 
clasped  hands  —  "  and  I  am  very,  very  grateful !     Holy  Mary 
will  listen  to  my  prayers  for  you  ;  but  you  must  not  forbid  my 
going  away  from  you.     Nobody  respects  the  ballet-girl  —  they 
think  her  wicked.     But  Carl,  you  know  better ;  and  when  I  go 
from  this  theatre,  you  must  not  follow  me.     I  am  going,  Carl ! " 

—  and  with  hands  clasped  on  her  side,  her  words  broken  by  fits 
of  coughing,  she  turned  toward  the  door. 

Neither  rouge  or  carmine  could  have  imparted  such  a  glow 
as  the  hectic  on  her  cheek  ;  and  her  eyes  gleamed  like  sad  stars 
as  she  turned  once  to  look  back.  Jasper  sprang  forward.  Tears 
were  in  his  eyes.  He  grasped  her  arm. 

"  Gabrielle,  you  are  right.  The  world  will  not  let  us  be 
brother  and  sister  longer.  Mine  has  been  the  fault  —  mine  must 
be  the  reparation.  Go,  take  off  this  tinselled  frippery,  then 
come  to  me." 

Mutely  and  quietly  the  ballet-girl  obeyed.  Presently  she^-e- 
turned  in  a  walking-dress  of  dark  plain  stuff,  with  her  hair  put 
back  under  her  close  hood. 

"  Now  Gabrielle,"  —  and  Jasper  wrapped  •  her  shawl  closer 
about  her  and  threw  his  cloak  over  his  own  shoulders.  "  Now 


204  PEACE:   OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

you  must  trust  me.  From  this  hour,  no  tongue  shall  dare  assail 
you !  From  this  hour,  your  feet  shall  never  tread  yonder,  or 
any  other  stage  !  Come  with  me ! " 

"  Whither  ?     Oh  Carl,  tell  me  whither  ?  " 
"  To  be  made  my  wife  !     Come,  my  poor  child  —  come ! " 
With  a  quick  cry  of  joy,  the  French  girl  wound  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  pressed  her  hot  crimson  lips  to  his,  then  they 
passed  out  together.     And  at  midnight,  before  a  French  Cath- 
olic priest  they  stood  side  by  side  —  the  boy-actor  and  the  ballet- 
dancer  —  and  uttered  the  vows  which  made  them  one ! 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

Look  back  upon  the  silentness 

Of  unreturning  years  — 
Thy  faded  hours  of  early  bliss  — 

Of  passion  and  of  tears. 

THE  DESTINY. 

Two  years  had  passed  since  the  desertion  of  the  merchant 
Revere  by  his  wife.  The  'tenor  of  his  life  had  little  changed ; 
his  days  were  spent  at  his  counting-house,  and  his  nights  at  his 
old  place  of  resort ;  fiot  an  additional  wrinkle  had  seamed  his 
brow,  nor  another  gray  hair  threaded  his  clustering  curls ;  out- 
wardly no  sign  of  Remorse  marked  his  life,  although  its  iron 
fingers  were  clutching  at  his  heart. 

For  Julie  Revere  —  the  brilliant,  peerless  woman  of  fashion, 
the  faithful,  passionate,  tropic-hearted  wife  —  was  gibbering  and 
mouthing  in  a  mad-house  ! 

The  terrible  revelation  of  that  night  had  been  too  much. 
Pride,  despair,  all  the  wild  unrestrained  passion  of  her  nature, 
had  lent  her  strength  to  write  those  bitter  sarcastic  words  Re- 
vere had  read  on  awakening,  had  nerved  her  to  trample  her 
costly  jewels  into  the  carpet  till  their  crushed  settings  wounded 
her  delicate  feet,  then  to  flee  from  his  presence ;  and  in  her  mad 
flight  through  the  streets  of  the  sleeping  city  she  had  but  one 
purpose  —  to  place  miles  and  leagues  between  them  —  but  at 
length,  even  her  fierce  wild  strength  gave  sway,  and  she  fell 
exhausted  at  the  door  of  an  humble  cottage  in  the  suburbs. 

There,  lying  prone  and  senseless,  its  inmates  had  found  her  at 

18  (205) 


206  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

morning  dawn,  and  borne  her  within,  summoning  medical  aid 
but  with  returning  consciousness  came  a  memory  of  that  terrible 
revelation,  and  her  anguish  grew  intolerably  wild,  until  madness 
ran  riot  in  her  brain.  With  furious  gestures  she  beat  off  her 
attendants,  or  sat  for  hours  gazing  at  vacancy,  moaning  and 
wringing  her  delicate  hands. 

Three  days  after,  the  keepers  of  the  Insane  Asylum  took  her 
away.  She  had  been  recognized  as  the  missing  wife  of  the  rich 
merchant,  Revere,  for  whom  unavailing  search  had  been  going 
on  those  three  days,  —  the  unhappy  man,  for  appearance'  sake, 
feeing  the  officers  of  the  Police  to  prosecute  their  labors  in  every 
quarter  of  the  city,  —  and  so  they  found  her.  The  events  of 
that  night  never  transpired.  Eager  to  seize  upon  anything  to 
satisfy  the  curiosity  of  the  public,  the  merchant  coined  his  own 
story^and  propagated  it.  "  I  came  home,  ill,  late  at  night,"  he 
said  to  his  physician.  "  I  lay  down  in  my  wife's  chamber,  after 
asking  for  drink  in  which  opium  had  doubtless  been  mingled. 
Insanity  must  have  been  working  in  her  brain,  even  then.  When 
I  awoke,  as  you  well  know,  ^he  was  gone."  With  this  lie  he 
covered  his  own  guilt,  and  satisfied  the  world.  Like  a  thunder- 
bolt it  fell  on  the  fashionable  throng,  who,  but  that  night,  had 
revelled  in  her  splendid  saloons.  Remembering  how  brilliant 
she  had  been,  how  loudly  her  laugh  had  rung  out  at  sallies  of 
wit,  recalling  her  unnatural  gayety  and  the  sparkle  of  her  eye, 
they  said,  shuddering,  "All  this  was,  doubtless,  the  workings  of 
incipient  madness ! " 

And  so  the  verdict  was  rendered ;  and  months  passed,  while 
the  beautiful  woman  came  not  forth  from  the  asylum  walls ;  and 
the  gambler  "merchant,  by  crafty  cunning,  had  kept  his  good 
name  untarnished  before  the  world. 

There  was  much  need  for  the  sums  which  Revere,  disguised 
so  that  his  most  intimate  friend  could  not  have  recognized  him, 


PEACE  :     OB    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  207 

won  at  this  time  at  the  gaming  table,  for  there  were  hard  strug- 
gles to  ke^p  aboveboard.  Every  where,  there  were  crises  in  the 
mercantile  world  which  scattered  the  fortunes  of  years ;  houses 
of  unimpeachable  credit  and  integrity  went  down  ;  money  was 
only  to  be  obtained  at  enormous  per  centages  ;  liabilities  occurred 
that  every  clay  grew  harder  to  meet ;  and  in  the  struggle,  how 
could  Revere  hope  to  escape  ?  At  the  time  of  Julie's  flight  he 
had  just  completed  a  business  arrangement  with  his  former  part- 
ners, buying  out  the  firm ;  consequently,  with  no  one  to  guide 
or  restrain  him,  he  had  boldly  dashed  into  speculations,  trusting 
to  Fortune  for  their  result.  In  some  he  had  succeeded,  in  others 
failed ;  but  when  4he  "  hard  times  "  came,  he  found  himself  in- 
volved like  hundreds  of  his  brother-merchants.  Then  his  old 
temptation  recurred.  He  might  win  enough  at  Gaming  to  make 
all  straight  again ;  and  nightly  he  trod  his  olden  paths  —  seeing 
not,  for  the  few  wayside  flowers,  its  perilous  steeps  and  engulf- 
ing quicksands. 

One  night  he  sat  alone  in  his  library.  Not  the  slightest 
change  in  his  domestic  arrangements  had  occurred.  A  species 
of  dread,  lest,  should  he  abate  a  single  appliance  of  wealth  and 
luxury,  the  world  might  obtain  a  clew  to  the  real  state  of  his 
affairs,  made  him  struggle  like  a  drowning  man  to  maintain  every- 
thing as  of  old.  His  elegant  mansion  —  though  its  sumptuous 
suite  of  rooms  with  tufted  carpets  was  untrodden  by  feet  now 
limited  to  a  narrow  cell — was  still  retained  under  a  heavy  mort- 
gage ;  old  servants  had  not  been  dismissed,  though  the  posts  of 
many  were  mere  sinecures ;  Jupiter  still  exercised  the  sleek  span 
of  bays,  taking  his  master  to  and  from  his  counting  house ;  and 
the  faithful  Minnie,  who  had  begged  vainly  to  follow  her  mis- 
tress into  the  Asylum,  whence  she  was  excluded  by  its  strict  re- 
gulations, busied  herself  with  arranging  and  rearranging  the  fur- 
niture or  wardrobe  in  "  Missis  Julie's  "  apartment,  awaiting  the 


208  PEACE  :  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

day  of  her  return.  And  tliis  at  last  began  to  seem  not  improba- 
ble. For  that  night,  sitting  in  his  library,  Revere  h/id  read  a 
letter  from  the  head  physician  of  the  Asylum,  whose  closing 
words  were,  "  If,  from  this  long  and  prostrating  illness  Mrs.  Re- 
vere ever  recover,  it  will  be  with  her  reason.  For  many  months 
mental  disease  has  been  succumbing  to  physical  weakness  —  it 
may  be  longer  yet,  before  the  scales  turn ;  but  when  they  do, 
Death  or  Reason  must  be  in  the  balance." 

"  Poor  Julie !  So  it  has  been  from  my  youth  up.  Every 
green  and  pleasant  thing  crushed  in  my  pathway ! "  mused  the 
merchant  as  his  fingers  closed  over  the  letter ;  and  in  that  silent 
hour,  alone  with  Memory,  a  vision  of  his  misspent  youth  swept 
before  him. 

Conscience  never  dies.  The  spells  of  Pride  and  iron  Will 
are  potent  to  lay  her  to  sleep,  but  they  cannot  crush  out  her 
breath  utterly.  Every  heart  has  its  "  Ghost- Walk  "  where,  up- 
starting from  muffling  shadows,  the  phantom  shapes  of  other 
years  go  gliding  by.  Remorse,  too,  is  hydra-headed,  and  carries 
a  quiver  filled  with  barbed  arrows ;  nor  is  there  a  nature  so  en- 
cased in  its  mail  of  selfishness  or  hard  worldliness,  but  has  some 
little  loophole  of  attack  where  one  of  these  rankling  weapons 
may  enter.  Now,  they  pierced  the  heart  of  Augustus  Revere. 
As  he  sat  alone  with  his  own  reproachful  thoughts,  sad  eyes 
haunted  him,  and  the  whole  panorama  of  his  cruelty  to  poor 
Mary  Halpine  passed  before  him.  Covering  his  face  with  his 
hands,  he  groaned  aloud. 

He  remembered  it  but  too  well.  It  was  a  starlight  night  in 
early  September,  when  he  left  the  side  of  the  brilliant  Southern 
belle  and  rode  hastily  to  the  home  where  the  patient,  deserted 
girl  awaited.  Already  a  foul  plot  had  been  concocted  to  loosen 
the  bonds  between  them.  The  abduction  of  the  four  year  old 
Jasper,  and  the  invention  of  the  story  that  the  child  must  have 


PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        209 

perished  in  the  unfathomed  waters  of  a  dark  lake  near  her  se- 
cluded home  —  this  was  a  cruel  tragedy ;  yet  Revere  was  not  so 
hardened  in  wickedness  then,  as  to  deliberately  plan  the  utter 
separation  of  a  mother  and  her  child.  Should  Mary  yield  to 
the  proposal  he  had  determined  to  make  that  night,  he  would  re- 
store the  boy  on  whom  he  looked  with  a  feeling  akin  to  paternal 
affection,  so  strongly  had  the  little  prattler  entwined  himself 
about  his  heart ;  but,  was  she  obstinate,  events  must  take  their 
own  course. 

Mary  met  him  with  a  glad  cry  of  welcome. 

"  Oh,  Augustus,  it  is  so  long  since  you  were  here  !  and  I  have 
been  very  lonely  since  little  Jasper  —  "  and  tears  choked  her. 

He  remembered  it  all  —  how  the  moonlight  came  in  at  the 
cottage  window  —  how  he  unwound  her  white  arms  from  his 
neck,  and  put  her  away  as  one  would  a  child  whose  caresses 
annoy  him. 

"  Augustus ! "  she  said,  reproachfully ;  but  still  he  came  not 
near  her,  but  paced  the  floor  with  agitated  manner  and  a  frown 
upon  his  brow. 

"What  is  it?"   she  asked. 

"  Something  troubles  you.     Let  me  share  your  cares ! " 

"  It  is  nothing  —  nothing  —  at  least  not  much.  I  have  play- 
ed deeply,  and  dost  every  dollar  I  owned.  That  is  all ! "  He 
spoke  bitterly.  He  acted  his  part  well. 

"  Is  it  so  bad  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  into  his  face  in  won- 
der. Then  a  gleam  of  sweet  woman-love  beautified  every  feat- 
ure, and  she  folded  her  arms  about  him. 

"We  have  love  left,  still.  While  that  lasts,  we  cannot  be 
poor.  Do  not  be  harsh  to  me.  Do  not  turn  away  from  me, 
Augustus ! " 

This  reply,  so  meek,  so  tender,  touched  him  for  a  moment ; 
but  it  could  not  turn  him  from  the  base  purpose  his  iron  heart 

18* 


PEACE  :     OB    THE    STOLEX    WILL. 

had  conceived.  Yet  it  suited  him  then  to  lavish  kisses  upon  the 
poor  flower  his  foot  was  crushing. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  gathering  her  in  his  arms,  "  I  know 
not  what  I  said  —  I  am  almost  mad.  It  is  not  so  much  for 
myself  I  care,  but  for  you.  Every  one  of  these  luxuries  will  be 
stripped  from  us  by  the  inexorable  hand  of  the  law ! "  and  he 
looked  around  the  apartment  fitted  up  with  every  appliance  of 
elegance. 

"  Let  not  a  thought  of  this  kind  trouble  you.  I  was  reared 
humbly ;  and  luxuries  are  no  more  needful  for  my  happiness 

than  a  gilded  cage  to  a  wild  bird.     But  it  is  to  you  they  have 

i 
become  necessary.     O,  would  there  were  some  sacrifice  by  which 

I  could  preserve  them  for  you,  my  husband  !  " 

The  time  had  come.  "  Mary,"  said  Revere,  "  there  is  a  way 
in  which  you  can  do  this." 

"  Only  name  it !  "  she  cried  eagerly. 

"  You  will  keep  your  promise  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes  —  yes  !  —  anything  to  secure  your  happiness  !  " 

And  then,  with  averted  glance,  for,  with  her  pure  sweet  eyes 
looking  into  his,  he  could  not  utter  his  base  proposal  —  with 
averted  gaze,  he  said  — "  Mary,  there  is  a  lady  who  is  the 
heiress  of  thousands.  With  her  gold,  I  could  win  back  all  my 
lost  wealth,  and  bind  your  brow  with  diamonds."* 

"  But  how  ?  "  and  Mary  Halpine  looked  up  wonderingly  into 
his  face  —  "  How  can  it  be,  Augustus  ?  This  lady  —  is  she  a 
near  relative,  my  husband  ?  " 

"  Child,  can  you  not  see  ?  She  loves  me  !  You  understand 
me  now  ?  " 

Mary  turned  very  white,  then  her  pure  brow  was  dyed  crim- 
son. She  staggered  to  her  feet.  "  Oh  yes,  I  understand  it  now ! 
It  is  very,  very  easy  !  Strange  that  I  could  not  see  it  before  ! 
Augustus  Revere  would  make  the  wife  of  his  bosom  a  thing  of 


PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  211 

shame  !  That  is  all !  Oh  Augustus  !  "  Her  sarcastic  words 
ended  in  a  burst  of  tears. 

Revere  was  in  no  mood  to  restrain  himself.  The  sight  of  her 
tears  maddened  him  beyond  all  bounds  of  prudence. 

"  Mary  Halpine,  sit  down  here  and  listen  ! "  and  he  forced 
her  to  a  seat.  —  "  You  might  as  well  know  it  now,  as  any  time. 
You  are  not  —  you  never  were  —  my  wife  !  That  marriage  was 
all  a  sham  —  illegal  every  way  !  What  do  you  sit  there  looking 
at  me  so  white  and  ghostly  for  ?  "What's  the  use  to  make  a  fuss 
over  it  ?  It  can't  be  helped  now !  Besides,  you're  just  as  dear 
to  me  as  ever  —  for,  believe  me  or  not,  Mollie,  I  like  you 
better  than  I  ever  shall  any  other  woman  in  the  world  —  and  if 
I  weren't  driven  to  desperation,  nothing  should  have  induced  me 
to  take  this  step.  But  it  need  make  no  difference.  My  lady's 
thousands  will  come  very  conveniently  for  you  and  I  to  spend  ; 
but  you  shall  still  have  my  heart,  and  every  moment  of  my 
leisure.  There  —  the  whole  matter's  out  —  now  be  a  sensible 
girl,  Mollie,  and  make  the  best  of  it." 

Recoiling  with  a  shudder  from  the  arm  he  would  have  thrown 
about  her,  Mary  Halpine  rose.  With  outstretched  palms,  as 
though  warding  off-  a  blow,  she  retreated.  Fixing  her  eyes 
upon  him,  going  backward  to  the  door,  she  said  in  a  hollow  voice, 
"  Augustus  Revere,  I  am  glad  my  boy  is  dead.  God  was  mer- 
ciful !  It  were  better  he  perished  under  the  deep  black  waters, 
than  live  to  become  like  his  father.  God  was  very  merciful ! 
For  myself,  it  matters  not  now.  —  I  am  a  weary,  heart-broken, 
betrayed  woman ;  but,  much  as  I  have  loved  you,  I  cannot 
knowingly  continue  in  sin.  In  thought,  and  word,  and  deed,  / 
have  been  innocent  —  but  may  the  All-Merciful  pardon  you ! 
Nay,  do  not  touch  me  ! "  and  with  a  gesture  of  loathing,  and 
a  kind  of  benumbing  terror  settling  down  on  every  limb,  she 
shrank  away.  "  My  poor,  poor  mother !  And  Reuben,  too  I 


212  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

It  is  a  judgment  —  a  judgment !  "  she  murmured  as  she  passed 
out  the  door. 

Thus  it  was  that  poor  betrayed  Mary  Halpine  went  forth 
from  his  presence ;  and,  after  the  lapse  of  seventeen  years,  her 
pure,  sweet,  sad  eyes  and  reproachful  words  came  from  out  the 
dead  past  to  haunt  him  like  spectres.  The  fangs  of  a  terrible 
remorse  were  fastened  on  his  soul. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

There,  I  maddened  !  her  words  stung  me  !    Life  swept  through  me  into 
fever, 

And  my  soul  sprang  up  astonished  ;  sprang,  full-statured  in  an  hour : 
Know  you  what  it  is  when  anguish,  with  apocalyptic  Never, 

To  a  Pythian  height  dilates  you,  —  and  despair  sublimes  to  power  ? 

E.  B.  BROWNING. 

• 

"  ORAH,  what  is  this  ?  So  Jasper  Golding  is  about  to  leave 
the  stage  !  "  said  Louis  Rowland,  lounging  into  his  sister's  dress- 
ing-room where  she  had  been  confined  with  a  cold  for  several 
days.  "  Do  you  feel  well  "enough  to  go  to  his  Benefit,  announced 
for  to-morrow  evening  ?  " 

"  Leave  the  stage  !  Benefit !  Why,  brother,  are  you  sure  ?  " 
and  delight  alternated  with  surprise  in  the  tones  of  Orah's 
answer. 

"  Yes,  positive  !  Here  it  is  in  black  and  white,"  holding  out 
the  morning  paper.  "  '  Farewell  to  the  stage.'  '  Benefit  of  the 
popular  actor,  Carl  Linn.'  And,  what  confirms  it,  —  happening 
into  Laws  and  Truman's  office  not  a  half-hour  ago,  they  men- 
tioned that  they  were  to  receive  a  new  student  —  the  young 
Golding  whom  they  had  met  at  our  rooms.  I  remember  — 
Esquire  Laws  sat  waiting  for  father's  return  the  afternoon  of 
Jasper's  call,  and  we  talked  over  our  college  days  in  his  hearing. 
The  old  lawyer  prophesies  a  hard  student,  and  seems  to  take 
quite  a  fatherly  interest  in  him.  The  secret  of  his  life,  as  an 
actor,  is  not  out  there.  Our  friend  has  two  characters,  it  seems ; 
and  I  shall  undeceive  no  one.  I  am  right  glad  Jasper  is  coming 
to  his  senses.  His  wild  oats  sown,  there  will  not  stand  a  more 

(213) 


214  PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

talented  law  student  in  the  city.     But  Orah,  this  seems  to  sur- 
prise you  !     You  had  no  forewarning  of  this  ?  "  . 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  answered  with  heightened  color.  "  But 
I  wonder  what  induced  the  change  ?  I  hope  it  is  not  a  mere 
whim ! " 

Louis  Rowland  drew  up  an  ottoman  to  his  sister's  low  chair, 
and  sat  down  by  her  side,  laying  his  hand  on1  hers. 

"  Orah,  has  Golding  been  here  since  your  birth-night  party  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  and  her  eye  fell  beneath  his. 

A  smile  of  intelligence  rippled  about  Howland's  mobile  mouth. 

"  I  see  it  all ;  and  I  more  than  suspect  that  a  certath  sister  of 
mine  has  been  the  chief  instrument  in  bringing  about  this 
'  consummation  most  devoutly  to  be  wished,' "  he  Said  archly. 
"  Orah,  on  that  night,  in  a  conversation  with  Mr.  Eustace,  when 
that  gentleman  playfully  rallied  you  on  your  success  as  '  Lucy 
Ashton,'  and  recommended  you  to  choose  your  future  liege  lord 
from  among  the  votaries  of  the  Drama,  did  I  not  hear  you  reply 
scornfully,  contemptuously,  to  his  bantering  advice?  And  did 
not  Golding  also  hear  those  words  ?  I  do  not  say,  my  sister, 
that  you  uttered  them  wantonly,  to  wound  his  feelings  —  but  I 
do  say,  that,  by  his  flashing  eye  and  his  hasty  withdrawal,  they 
struck  home.  His  after  absence  confirms  it." 

A  blush  of  shame  reddened  Orah  Howland's  cheek ;  but  a 
proud  curl  sat  on  her  lip.  What!  unveil  her  heart  to  her 
brother  ?  Her  woman's  pride  was  up  in  arms  against  it.  Let 
him  see  that  she  cared  for  this  actor  —  she,  who  never  had 
bowed  before  ?  No  ! 

"  Orah,"  —  and  Louis  Howland's  manner  grew  very  earnest, 
as  he  took  her  hand  between  both  his  —  "  be  yourself,  my  dear 
sister !  Put  off  all  this  foreign  pride.  It  is  not  your  nature. 
Now  listen  :  Since  I  met  Jasper  Golding  in  his  present  career  I 
have  not  been  forward  in  my  proffers  of  advice,  because  I  knew 


PEACE:   OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  215 

that,  with  his  hot  proud  heart,  he  would  not  receive  advice  as  I 
intended  it  —  for  his  good.  And  I  also  foresaw  other  influences, 
lie  is  high-spirited,  impetuous,  passionate,  yet  noble-hearted  and 
generous ;  and  only  the  control  of  a  similar  nature  can  affect 
him.  '  The  like  may  sway  the  like.'  Orah  —  sister  —  the  influ- 
ence of  a  true-hearted,  strong,  decided  woman  would  be  of  in- 
calculable benefit  to  him,  and  I  believe  that  power  is  yours. 
Xay  !  do  not  deny  it  —  our  lawyer-craft  makes  us  skilful  in 
reading  the  heart.  I  have  long  known  what  you  surely  must 
have  seen,  since  woman's  perception  is  allowed  to  rival  all  the 
lawyers'  in  Christendom  —  Golding  loves  you  !  And  Orah,  if 
your  words  —  spoken  in  whatever  mood  they  might  have  been 
—  were  the  incitement  to  the  step  he  has  taken,  then  I  see  no 
cause  why  you,  or  I,  should  repent  them  ;  moreover,  if  he  prove 
true  to  his  better  nature  in  the  new  career  he  has  entered,  you 
will  have  no  need  to  crush  the  pleadings  of  your  own  heart. 
There,  not  a  word  —  not  a  word !  Look  your  best  for  to- 
morrow night !  Good  morning  ! "  —  and  affectionately  kissing 
her  forehead,  he  went  out. 

Orah  Rowland  thought  long  and  calmly  after  her  brother  had 
left  her.  There  had  been  struggles  in  her  heart  —  struggles 
such  as  every  proud  woman  with  strong  prejudices,  experiences 
many  times  in  her  life ;  but  they  were  over  now. 

Half-trembling,  half-afraid,  she  took  down  every  barrier,  and 
let  in  the  great  tide  of  happiness  upon  her  heart  —  its  surging 
waves  uprooting  and  drifting  afar  off  every  old  land-mark  of 
pride  or  coldness.  The  natural  independence  of  her  character 
found  sway,  softened  by  the  deep  tenderness  of  her  woman  heart. 

"  And  /  have  influenced  him  to  do  this  !  "  she  murmured.  "  I 
have  swayed  him  to  my  will!  Henceforth  he  will  leave  his 
errors  and  his  follies  —  the  wine  cup  and  the  stage  ;  and,  in  the 
profession  he  has  chosen,  build  himself  an  enviable  reputation. 


216  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

He  must  prosper !  Every  one  allows  his  talent.  He  will  be- 
come honored,  respected,  loved.  Yes,  loved  !  —  for  henceforfh 
my  proud  spirit  shall  bow  to  his,  and  acknowledge  him  my  king. 
That  hour  which  witnesses  his  farewell  to  the  stage,  shall  see 
also  the  silent  betrothal  of  my  heart  to  his  ! " 

That  "  benefit  night "  was  a  splendid  finale  to  "  Carl  Linn's  " 
brief  and  successful  dramatic  career.  Never  was  there  a 
"  Claude  "  more  dangerously  fascinating  —  never  high-placed, 
ambitious  love  found  more  fitting  exponent ;  and  as  the  young 
actor  poured  forth  his  burning  tide  of  devotion,  Orah  Rowland, 
who  sat  radiantly  beautiful  beside  her  brother,  suffered  its  waves 
to  overwhelm  her  heart.  Mentally,  she  was  the  Pauline  of  his 
love.  Every  enthusiastic  sentiment  seemed  a  call  from  his  own 
passionate  soul  to  hers ;  and  in  that  hour,  hearing  not  the  deaf- 
ening applause  that  greeted  his  farewell  words,  when,  in  a  short 
address,  he  expressed  his  heartfelt  thanks  to  the  audience  whose 
kindly  presence  had  made  this  farewell  a  "benefit"  indeed, 
alluding  gratefully  to  their  leniency  and  encouragement  of  his 
poor  endeavors  —  hearing  nothing,  heeding  nothing,  save  the 
rush  of  her  own  emotions  swaying  her  spirit  to  their  flow,  she 
resigned  herself  to  their  blissful  tide. 

"  What !  dreaming,  sister  mine  ?  "  playfully  asked  Louis,  tap- 
ping her  arm  with  her  fan.  "  But  the  enchanter's  spell  is  over. 
Come. —  let  us  go  !  "  —  and  so  ahe  gathered  the  folds  of  her 
opera-cloak  about  her  and  rose. 

"  Wait  here  a  minute  —  please.  I  will  return  presently,"  he 
said,  after  handing  her  to  the  carriage.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
returned ;  but  not  alone.  By  a  gas-light  near,  Orah  caught 
sight  of  a  pale  handsome  face  and  a  well-known  form.  Her 
brother  talked  gayly  and  in  high  spirits. 

"  Here,  sister,  I  have  brought  you  an  old  friend.     Somehow, 


PEACE:    OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  217 

he  was  decidedly  ungallant  —  urged  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
and  all  sorts  of  excuses ;  but  I  was  inexorable.  Orah,  why 
don't  you  welcome  him  ?  Come,  jump  in,  Golding !  " 

A  white  gloved  hand  was  offered  from  the  carriage  window. 
"  Mr.  Golding,  I  am  happy  to  see  you  ! "  she  said  softly. 

The  hand  was  held  tightly  for  a  moment,  then  dropped  sud- 
denly ;  and  a  "  thank  you  !  "  in  a  hollow  formal  voice  was  his 
only  reply  —  nor  was  another  word  spoken  after  he  entered  the 
carriage. 

Orah  felt  hurt,  almost  chilled,  for  a  moment,  but  in  another 
had  pardoned  him.  Her  own.  pride  had  prepared  this  recep- 
tion. He  had  not  forgotten  her  words,  then  ?  The  thought  sent 
a  thrill  through  her  heart.  Louis  was  in  his  most  genial  mood. 
Orah  mentally  blessed  him  for  it  —  it  was  such  a  relief.  The 
two  gentlemen  conversed  together. 

"Come  in,  Golding!"  said  Howland  gayly,"as  the  carriage 
drew  up  at  the  curb-stone.  "I  want  to  celebrate  a  victory! 
Will  illuminate  every  -window  !  Rouse  up  Tom,  Dick  and 
Harry,  and  have  three  cheers  for  the  emancipated  actor.  Come 
—  don't  hesitate  !  " 

"  No  !  it  is  late  !  "  —  and  Golding  hung  back.  "  I  ought 
not!" 

"  Ah,  your  excuses  are  not  valid !  The  midnight  chimes  have 
not  yet  rung.  Your  hand  to  my  sister,  if  you  please !  You 
Avill  not  refuse  a  lady  !  "  —  and  laughingly  the  young  lawyer  ran 
up  the  steps  and  turned  his  night-key  in  the  lock.  Turning  up 
the  gas  in  the  hall,  he  threw  open  the  drawing-room  door. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are,  then  ?  Walk  in !  Orah,  you  have 
dropped  your  fan  !  "  —  and  detaining  her  a  moment  by  that  pre- 
tence to  whisper  softly,  "There,  I  have  been  a  good  brother  — 
have  I  not,  sis  ?  Now  pray,  do  cheer  up  the  poor  fellow,  while 
I  pay  my  respects  to  Morpheus.  Good  night!"  He  lightly 

19 


218  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

sprang  up  the  stair-case ;  and  once  again  Orah  Rowland  found 
herself  alone  in  the  presence  of  Jasper  Grolding. 

A  struggle  had  passed  in  his  heart  as  he  stood  on  the  threshold 
of  that  dwelling.  "  I  must  not  enter ! "  he  had  said,  but  her 
pleading  eyes  conquered.  Was  it  wrong  to  sun  himself  once 
more  in  the  light  of  those  radiant  eyes  ere  he  went  out  into  the 
cold  world  of  darkness  ?  Yes,  it  was  wrong  —  he  knew  it  —  but 
he  was  weak,  and  he  entered  a  dwelling  whose  threshold  he  had 
thought  never  to  cross  again.  But  when  he  stood  alone  beside 
her,  the  voice  of  Honor  came  speaking  in  thunder-tones  —  "  Go 
hence  !  You  are  acting  unmanfully,  dishonorably !  "  He  turned 
toward  the  door. 

"  Will  you  not  sit  down  ?  You  are  pale  —  ill !  Shall  I 
bring  you  a  glass  of  water  ?  "  —  and  Orah's  hand  was  on  the 
ebony  door-knob. 

"  No,  no  ! "  he  said,  arresting  her  hand  and  retaining  it  almost 
unconsciously,  while  the  gleam  of  his  eager  hollow  eyes  seemed 
to  burn  into  her  own.  "  No,  I  am  not  ill  —  at  least  mine  are 
not  such  ailments  as  physicians  can  cure.  There  are  no  potions 
for  a  sick  heart.  For  I  am  sick  —  sick  as  death  —  of  myself, 
of  the  world  —  everything!  Orah  Rowland,"  —  and  his  hand 
tightened  over  hers  with  a  grasp  cold  and  hard  as  steel,  —  "I 
was  mad,  to  cross  the  threshold  of  this  house  to-night !  Some  of 
the  happiest  hours  of  my  life  have  been  passed  here  —  but  this 
is  the  most  miserable  !  No,  not  this  !  —  for  when  I  stood  here 
last,  THAT  was  the  time  when  hope  was  stricken  from  my  heart, 
leaving  it  dead  and  sere  !  Proud  girl,  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had 
never  met  you ! "  —  and  he  flung  her  hand  away.  "  But  what 
am  I  saying  ?  what  am  I  saying  ?  "  —  and  he  put  his  hand  to 
his  head.  "  Let  me  go !  Why  did  you  bring  me  here  to  mock 
me?" 

"Nor  Jasper  Golding," —  and  Orah  stood  close  beside  him, 


PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        219 

her  hand  upon  his  arm  and  two  bright  crimson  spots  on  her 
cheeks  —  "  No  !  In  this  hour,  I  do  not  overstep  the  bounds  of 
maidenly  propriety,  if  I  tell  you  you  shall  not  go  hence  till  you 
are  calmer,  stronger,  happier !  I  am  not  mocking  you  —  I  am 
not,  indeed.  Listen  :  Do  I  deceive  myself,  when  I  say  that  my 
words  won  you  from  your  past  profession  and  enticed  you  to 
another  career  ?  Was  it  for  me  you  did  this,  Jasper  ?  " 

"  It  was  for  you  !  But  it  is  too  late  now !  Your  kindness 
should  have  been  earlier,  Miss  Rowland  ! "  —  and  he  laughed  a 
short,  nervous,  almost  frenzied  laugh. 

"  No,  it  is  not  too  late,"  said  Orah  firmly.  "  Jasper,  I  ac- 
knowledge my  fault.  Do  not  blame  me  too  much.  I  teas  proud 
—  I  am  so  still !  I  cannot  help  it  —  God  made  me  so  ;  but  if  I 
tell  you  how  all  the  time  you  have  been  in  my  heart —  how,  all 
the  while  —  " 

"  Stop,  Orah  Rowland  !  You  must  tell  me  nothing  more ! "  — ' 
and  Jasper  put  away  the  white  hand  laid  appealingly  on  his  arm, 
looking  very  white  about  his  lips  —  "  Nor  must  I  longer  listen  to 
words  it  would  have  once  so  thrilled  my  heart  to  hear.  God 
knows,  had  I  foreseen  this  hour,  I  should  have  been  sorely 
tempted  to  desert  Gabrielle  —  but  it  is  too  late  !  There  were 
barriers  enough  before  between  us  —  your  pride,  my  follies  and 
my  profession  — but  nothing  like  this.  Orah,  /  am  the  husband 
of  another  !  " 

Orah  Rowland  spoke  no  word,  but  sank  against  the  wall,  her 
midnight  eyes  fastened  in  a  dull  blank  stare  upon  his.  First, 
her  face  was  of  an  ashen  hue  ;  then  a  hot,  burning,  crimson  tide 
rushed  over  it.  She  covered  it  with  her  hands. 

Jasper  stood  grasping  the  carven  back  of  a  French  chair. 
His  nails  sank  deep  into  the  polished  rosewood ;  his  lips  were 
compressed  like  iron. 

"  Orah  Rowland,"  —  and  the  words  came  rapidly  and  proudly, 


220  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

—  "  you  must  not  —  shall  not  despise  me  !  Listen  to  my  de- 
fence :  Three  months  ago,  I  rescued  from  a  terrible  death  a 
young  and  beautiful  girl.  In  the  smoking  ruins  of  the  burning 
dwelling  whence  I  bore  her,  they  found,  next  day,  the  charred 
skeleton  of  that  poor  child's  father.  Then,  alone  in  a  stranger- 
land,  what  wonder  that  she  clung  with  a  child's  gratitude  to  her 
deliverer  ?  I  placed  her  among  kind  people  in  a  quiet  boarding- 
house  ;  I  obtained  for  her  a  situation  in  the  theatre  where  I  was 
engaged  —  for  Gabrielle  Franck  was  a  dancing-girl.  But  after- 
ward, when  I  knew  that  young  child  better,  and  saw  how  pure 
her  heart  was,  I  would  fain  have  dissuaded  her  from  that  life. 
But  she  had  been  educated  for  it  —  had  crossed  the  wide  sea  to 
appear  in  our  theatres  ;  and  with  a  woman's  energy  in  a  child's 
frame,  she  resolved  that  she  would  not  remain  a  burden  to 
others  —  she  would  earn  her  own  livelihood.  Afterwards,  she 

•took  a  violent  cold,  grew  ill ;  and  I  forbade  her  going  any  more 
to  the  theatre.  For  a  time  it  went  on  so  ;  till  —  going  from  your 
side  two  weeks  ago  this  night  —  I  saw  her  name  announced,  and 
found  her  there  once  more.  -^-  Poor  child !  and  what  sent  her 
thither?  Orah  Howland,  that  child  wreathed  her  lips  with 
smiles,  and  danced,  to  hide  an  aching  heart  —  for  she  loved  me  ! 
And,  though  I  bore  her  only  such  feelings  as  might  a  brother  for 
a  younger  sister,  the  world  had  not  spared  us ;  venomous  tongues 
were  busy  with  her  reputation.  That  night  I  had  left  your  pres- 
ence—  you,  proud  and  cold,  and  I  despairing  —  I  found  her 
ill,  and  drooping  under  the  shafts  of  venorned  scorn.  Was  it 
strange  that  I  shielded  her,  even  if  I  could  never  give  her  the 
strongest,  deepest  worship  of  my  heart  ?  Answer  me  faithfully. 
Miss  Howland,  ought  I  to  have  done  otherwise  than  make 

.  Gabrielle  Franck  my  wife  ?  " 

Orah's  eye  was  humid,  and  she  proffered  her  hand. 

"  Jasper  Golding,  you  acted  nobly  !     Had  you  left  that  poor 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         221 

girl  with  a  tarnished  name,  much  as  I  loved  you,  I  could  never, 
never  liave  forgiven  you !  It  was  no  sacrifice.  Go  on  now  in 
the  new  career  you  have  chosen.  J  shall  always  watch  you  from 
afar,  as  your  friend." 

"  Orah  Rowland,  whatever  of  good  you  may  hear  of  me  in 
the  future,  remember  you  made  me  so  !  Farewell !  "  —  and 
pressing  his  lips  reverently  to  the  proffered  hand,  he  went  out 
from  her  presence. 


19* 


CHAPTER   XXI  V. 

A  warm  and  drowsy  sweetness 

Is  stealing  o'er  my  brain ; 
I  see  no  more  the  Danube 

Sweep  through  his  royal  plain  — 
I  hear  no  more  the  peasant  girls 

Singing  amid  the  grain ! 

The  elm  and  linden  branches 

Droop  close  and  dark  o'erhead, 
And  the  foaming  forest  brooklet 

Leaps  down  its  rocky  bed  ; 
Be  still,  my  heart !   the  seas  are  passed  ! 

The  paths  of  home  I  tread ! 

BAYARD  TAYLOR.  . 

THERE  was  a  great  stir  in  Mrs.  Delano's  mansion  one  bright 
February  morning.  Lucien  Palfrey  had  returned.  The  aunt 
welcomed  her  "  dear  nephew  "  with  loud-voiced  welcomes ;  and 
the  elegant  blonde,  Florence,  came  down  to  the  drawing-room  in 
the  most  becoming  Marie  Louise  blue  silk  wrapper,  and  offered 
her  lily  hand  to  her  foreign  looking  cousin  with  her  sweetest 
smile. 

When  little  Cora  was  summoned  to  meet  her  father,  the  maid 
found  her  in  the  school  room  at  the  governess's  feet,  busily  en- 
deavoring to  make  a  large  waxen  doll  comprehend  an  illustrated 
edition  of  nursery  rhymes ;  and  when  the  child  found  herself 
/  carried  to  the  drawing-room,  to  sit  on  the  knee  of  a  strange  tall 
man  with  a  dark  face  and  a  quantity  of  unshorn  beard  on  his 
chin  which  pricked  her  little  velvet  cheeks  as  he  kissed  her  over 

(222) 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  223 

and  over  again ;  then  she  was  sorely  frightened  and  tried  to 
shrink  away ;  and  though  he  tempted  her  with  bon-bons  and 
dainty  toys,  asking  mournfully,  "  if  his  little  girl  would  not  stay 
with  papa,"  she  managed  to  slide  from  his  arms  —  and,  as  he 
turned  to  answer  a  question  from  Mrs.  Delano,  slipped  unob- 
served from  the  drawing-room. 

"  Cora,  pet  —  but,  ah,  the  truant  has  flown ! "  said  Dr.  Pal- 
frey, with  a  sad  smile,  hearing  a  little  laugh  of  childish  glee  from 
the  stair-case.  "Well,  aunt,  I  need  scarce  wonder  at  this,  I 
suppose  —  for  it  is  my  own  fault  that  my  child  looks  suspiciously 
on  the  strange  intruder.  It  must  be  my  study  now  to  win  her 
love.  OH  nurse  Allen  doubtless  regards  her  claim  on  Cora  as 
stronger  than  mine." 

"  Oh  yes,  Allen  is  a  good,  faithful,  necessary  creature,"  return- 
ed Mrs.  Delano.  "It  gave  me  pleasure  that  the  darling  had  so 
devoted  an  attendant;  especially,  as  both  my  children  are  now 
beyond  the  age  when  a  nursery  girl  is  necessary.  You  see  I 
have  made  no  change  in  my  establishment  since  poor  dear  Mr. 
Delano  died.  Not  that  /  cared  to  continue  here,  my  dear  ne- 
phew. —  Oh  no,  no ! "  and  a  lace  kerchief  was  applied  to  the 
lady's  eyes  —  "some  more  retired  home  would  have  accorded 
far  better  with  a  poor  bereaved  woman's  feelings  ;  but  I  thought 
of  Florence  —  how  dull  it  would  be  after  her  graduation  —  and 
for  her  sake,  remained  here.  When  I  opened  the  house  for  her 
coming  out  party,  it  seemed  like  opening  a  tomb ;  but  I  strug- 
gled hard  with  such  feelings.  Society  has  claims  on  us  all,  you 
know  —  especially  the  young  —  " 

"And  beautiful!"  gallantly  interrupted  ^Palfrey,  crossing  the 
floor  and  taking  a  seat  beside  his  radiant  cousin. 

The  gratified  mamma's  countenance  glowed  with  pleasure. 
"  Really,  Flor.  should  feel  flattered  that  one  who  has  met  the 
beautiful  and  titled  of  foreign  lands  finds  his  own  countrywomen 


224  PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

—  but  laws  !  what  am  I  saying  ?  "  and  she  laughed  with  an  af- 
fectation of  embarrassment.  "  You  will  think  me  a  foolish 
mamma,  nephew  ?  " 

"  Maternal  pride,  in  this  instance,  is  pardonable  —  nay,  com- 
mendable" replied  Palfrey,  bowing,  with  a  side  glance  at  Flo- 
rence. "  Flatterer ! "  interposed  the  beauty,  pouting. 

"  Nay,  what  story  does  that  reveal  ?  "  and  he  playfully  held 
up  'her  mirrored  fan.  "  Seriously,  my  charming  cousin,  you  are 
looking  little  like  the  unmatured  school-girl  to  whom  I  bade 
farewell  three  years  ago !  But  I  forget  that  Time  never  lingers 
on.  his  way,"  and  the  brightened  countenance  fell. 

"  Lucien,  I  trust  you  do  not  intend  going  up  to  Sprfngdale  at 
present  ?  "  interposed  Mr.s..  Delano. 

"  Oh,  no  indeed !  Surely  you  will  not  take  away  our  pet !  I 
cannot  spare  her  !  "  chimed  in  Florence,  looking  more  beautiful 
than  ever  to  the  gratified  father's  eyes. 

"  Surely  not,  if  you  wish  to  keep  her.  Your  words  are  law, 
ma  belle  cousin,"  and  he  gallantly  lifted  her  taper  fingers  to  his 
lips,  adding  in  a  tone  of  deep  feeling,  "  Florence,  I  thank  you 
from  my  heart  for  this  interest  in  my  motherless  child.  She  is 
indeed  a  true  woman  who  suffers  such  gentle  feelings  to  sway 
her  nature  —  who  loves  little  children,"  then  turning  to  Mrs. 
Delano,  continued,  "  Aunt,  at  the  time  Mrs.  Livingston  placed 
Cora  here,  I  feared  she  might  be  an  intrusion  on  your  house- 
hold ;  but  I  see  now  that  I  misjudged  you.  And  now,  my  child 
in  such  kind  hands,  perhaps  I  had  better  defer  opening  the  old 
house  until  Spring  —  taking  rooms,  meantime,  at  the  Astor. 
But  after  all,"  and  he  sighed  heavily ;  "  after  all,  a  man  longs 
for  his  home.  Travel  wearies ;  foreign  lands  cease  to  charm. 
The  old  world,  with  its  classical  antiquities  and  treasures  of  art 
—  ruins  and  temples,  fallen  obelisks  and  eternal  pyramids,  an- 
cient libraries  and  galleries  of  painting  and  sculpture,  Italian 


: 


PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  225 

sunsets  and  glaciered  Alps,  the  castled  Rhine  and  sparkling 
Guadalquiver  —  each  and  all,  pall  on  the  taste  after  a  season, 
and  the  wanderer's  eye  turns  longingly  homeward  over  the 
ocean.  And  even  the  simplest  thing  —  a  voice,  a  tone,  a  strain 
of  music  - —  has  power  to  bring  the  homesick  tears  into  his  eyes. 
I  can  understand  now,"  and  his  words  were  addressed  to  Flo- 
rence who  sat  trifling  gracefully  with  the  tassel  of  her  jewelled 
fan,  "  why  the  Marseillaise  so  stirs  anew  all  the  old  fires  of 
bravery  in  the  enthusiastic  Frenchman's  soul  —  why  the  Swiss 
peasant  so  yearns  for  his  native  mountains  when  Alpine  songs 
are  sung  —  and  why  the  sound  of  the  bagpipes  brings  a  vision 
of  Highland  lochs  and  glens  and  heather  bells  to  the  eyes  of 
Scotia's  wandering  sons.  One  day  —  it  was  in  Florence,  and  I 
had  just  left  a  picture  gallery  where  Iliad  lounged  away  a  half- 
day —  in  passing  an  old  cathedral,  I  heard  a  familiar  strain  that 
made  my  heart  leap.  And  what  was  it,  think  you,  cousin  mine  ? 
—  The  Casta  Diva,  or  II  Trovatore,  sung  in  their  own  liquid 
Italian  ? — or  any  Opera  you  may  have  heard  prima  donnas  war- 
ble at  your  theatres,  and  which  salute  one's  ear  at  every  turn  in 
Italian  cities  ?  —  No,  indeed !  but,  instead,  there  stood  in  front 
of  the  cathedral  steps  a  poor,  half-clad,  dreamy-eyed  beggar  boy, 
strumming  the  strings  of  an  old  guitar  to  the  stirring  accompani- 
ment of  "  Yankee  Doodle  !  "  —  Now  I  am  not  naturally  enthusi- 
astic, or  over-patriotic — but,  cousin,  I  declare  that  thrilled  me !" 
and  as  Lucien  Palfrey  rose,  and,  crossing  the  floor,  leaned  against 
the  marble  mantel,  an  eloquent  smile  lighted  a  dark  face  whose 
features  in  repose  were  sad  almost  to  sternness. 

"  Yes,  it  thrilled  me  like  a  trumpet  call  —  the  trumpet  call  of 
Freedom  !  Here,  in  down-trodden,  priest-ridden,  enslaved  Italy, 
the  very  street  beggars  sang  the  stirring  National  song  of  a  great, 
glorious  republic !  Does  it  not  prove,  I  argued,  that  no  thrall, 
no  enslavement,  can  utterly  crush  out  that  inborn  yearning  for 


226  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

Freedom  which  the  Creator  has  implanted  in  every  human  heart  ? 

—  And  straightway  I  had  builded  a  most  fair  and  powerful  struc- 
ture —  a  very  Temple  of  Liberty,  with  domes  and  towering 
spires  rending  the  blue  Florentine  sky  —  and  all  this,  reared  on 
the  flimsiest  foundation  —  an  Italian  beggar's  broken  version  of 
our  National  psean !     And  when,  at  the  close,  those  sad,  dreary 
eyes  looked  wishfully  into  mine,  and  an  oufs*frelched,  olive-hued 
hand  implored,  in  bad  English,  '  Charity '  of  the  '  Signer ' :   half 
the  contents  of  my  purse  were  enthusiastically  awarded  him.     I 
was  not  giving  alms  to  a  lazy  beggar.  —  Oh,  no  !   I  was  invest- 
ing a  few  coins  of  the  '  filthy  lucre '  toward  the  embodiment 

a  great,  noble  principle  —  Liberty!  But,  alas  for  my  delightfu 
air  castles !  "Wandering  that  way  again  a  half  hour  later,  the 
refrain  of  an  air  strangely  like  '  God  save  the  King,'  died  away ; 
and  I  came  suddenly  upon  my  youthful  herb,  clad  in  a  gay 
scarlet  tunic,  lazily  stmning  himself  on  the  steps  of  the  Church 
Santa  Oroce,  alternately  humming  the  above-named  monarchical 
song,  and  greedily  devouring  that  delectable  of  Italian  beggars 

—  maccaroni  —  which,  together  with  the  gay  tunic,  were  the 
very  democratic  investments  of  my  '  charity.'     Ha,  ha  !  "   and 
the  smile  broke  into  a  rich  manly  laugh,  "  Cousin  Florence,  there 
was  an  end  of  my  enthusiasm !     Down,  down,  like  a  plummet 
dropped  into  the  Adriatic,  sunk  my  Temple  of  Liberty  —  spires, 
domes,  national  emblems  and  all.      The    dreamy-eyed  Italian 
was  speedily  transformed  into  a  roguish,  lazy  specimen  of  the 
'  Great  Unwashed ' ;  and  the  comparison  I  involuntarily  made 
between  the  sons  of  our  sturdy  Anglo-Saxon  race  and  the  ener- 
vated children  of  the  effeminate  Southland,  was  anything  but  in- 
spiring.    American  soldiers  starving  at  Valley  Forge,  and  dirty 
Italian  lazzaroni !      Yankee  Doodle,  and   maccaroni !     Bah  !  I 
went  to  my  palazzo  '  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man  ! ' " 

"  But  this  is  a  digression,"  added  Palfrey  after  a  slight  pause. 


'Ol/~ 

ful 


1'KACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  227 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  the  Italian  beggar-boy's^  song  an- 
swered one  purpose  —  perhaps  not  an  unimportant  one,  since  it 
sent  me  home.  Yes,  it  set  me  to  thinking.  A  breath  of  air 
from  the  pine  woods  at  Springdale  seemed  to  sweep  over  me. 
The  first  Mediterranean  vessel  bore  me  as  passenger.  So  had 
iny  acquired  cosmopolitan  tastes  grown  upon  me,  that  I  came 
near  forgetting  the  child  I  left  behind  —  a  care  to  others.  I 
came  home." 

"No,  Cousin  Lucien,"  and  Florence  Delano  artfully  veiled 
her  blue  eyes,  and  rfhrew  such  a  quiver  of  emotion  into  her  sweet 
llexile  voice  that  no  wou<ler  it  deceived  her  hearer  —  "  No,  you 
wrong  us  !  Little  Cora  has  been  no  care  —  on  the  contrary, 
the  light  and  joy  of  this  house.  For  her  own  sake,  no  less  than 
yours,  is  she  dear  to  us  ! " 

"  Yes  indeed,  nephew,"  added  Mrs.  Delano,  "  I  love  that  child 
the  same  as  my  own  darlings  !  "  . 

"  Thank  you  !  thank  you  both,  my  dear  aunt  and  cousin  !  " 
replied  Palfrey  in  a  voice  by  no  means  steady.  "  This  is  very 
grateful  to  me.  Yet  do  not  think  that,  though  for  three  long 
years  the  world  has  claimed  me,  I  have  ceased  to  remember 
what  drove  me  there.  Aunt  Delano,  the  old  wound  rankles 
yet ! "  and  with  a  bitter  compression  of  his  lips  he  hastily  left 
the  apartment. 

And  why,  walking  rapidly,  yet  with  his  head  bent  down  like 
one  in  a  deep  dream,  did  that  bitter,  sternly-sad  expression 
deepen  about  his  mouth  —  and  every  feature  of  that  whilom 
gay,  animated,  genial  face  seem  to  settle  into  a  petrified,  gloomy 
repose  ? 

Ah,  because  memories  which  had  clung  to  him  amid  all  his 
wanderings  would  not  leave  him  then  —  nay,  had  revived  ten- 
fold when  he  looked  upon  his  motherless  child ;  —  because  a 
pale,  agonized,  beautiful  face  had  followed  him  everywhere, 


228        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

coming  between  him  and  the  pictured  Madonna,  between  him  and 
every  scene  in  every  clime,  looking  up  from  the  still  waters  of 
Alpine  lakes,  down  from  soft  Italian  skies,  out  from  the  murky 
folds  of  storm-clouds  —  always  that  death-white,  agonized  face  — 
the  face  of  her  who  had  breathed  out,  with  repentant  breath, 
her  life  upon  his  heart  —  Cora's  dead  mother. 

"  Florence,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Delano  in  a  more  thoughtful 
mood  than  was  her  wont  after  -the  departure  of  her  nephew, 
"  Lucien  is  little  changed.  He  will  never  forget  his  life  with 
Jenny,  or  her  death.  I  believe  he  is  one  of  the  kiud  who  never 
forget.  Do  you  think  he  will  ever  marry  again  ?  " 

It  was  full  three  minutes  before  Florence  Delano  vouchsafed 
a  reply.  Then,  raising  her  head  from  her  jewelled  hand,  her 
scarlet  lips  were  tightly  compressed,  and  the  deep  steady  blaze 
of  determination  kinflled  her  eyes.  "Beauty  will  never  win 
him,"  she  said.  "Much  as  he  may  admire,  he  never  would 
many  again  for  it.  His  first  experience  was  too  dearly  bought. 
Mamma,  there  is  one  avenue  to  his  proud  heart.  Whoever 
would  win  Lucien  Palfrey,  must  love  his  child  —  must  play  the 
tender,  domestic,  humdrum  woman  !  I  wonder  if  I  am  equal  to 
that  ? "  and  going  to  the  full-length  mirror  she  laughed  some- 
what scornfully,  "Your  very  humble,  devoted  servant,  cousin 
mine ! " 

Meantime  little  Cora  had  given  her  own  version  of  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  stranger. 

"  O  such  a  great  big  man  !  "  and  she  opened  wider  her  bright 
eyes  —  "  ever  so  big,  like  the  giant  Jack  killed,  I  guess  !  —  and 
great  black  bushes  on  his  face  !  they  scratched  me  jest  like 
nossing  !  See  !  "  —  and  she  placed  her  chubby  hands  against 
her  cheeks.  "  Peace  kiss  it,  and  get  it  all  well !  "  and  the  dim- 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        229 

pled  face  was  uplifted  lovingly  to  the  teacher  who  gravely  .went 
through  the  process  of  "  making  it  well." 

"  Cora  don't  want  a  papa  —  'cause,  maybe,  he  don't  like  little 
dirls,  nor  dollies,  either !  Cora  don't  want  to  go  down  stairs 
where  the  great  big  man  is,  any  more  !  Miss  Peace  got  a  great 
big  papa,  too  ?  '*  and  she  lifted  her  eyes  inquiringly  to  the 
teacher's  face. 

That  a  child's  words  should  have  power  to  move  her  so ! 
Lonely  Peace  !  She  choked  back  the  rising  sobs  in  her  throat, 
but  she  could  not  stay  her  quick  rushing  tears.  Bending  her 
head  among  the  bright  curls,  she  wept  quietly ;  while  a  little 
wondering  child-face  looked  grave  and  almost  thoughtful,  then 
pattering  kisses  rained  on  her  forehead,  and  two  dimpled*  arms 
made  an  embrace  for  her  neck.  When  the  governess  looked  up 
she  was  calm  again. 


20 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

And  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontents 
I'll  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous. 

SHAKSPEAEE. 

ART  never  yet  has  rivalled,  or  equalled  Nature.  No  painter's 
hand  has  transferred  to  canvas  the  gorgeous  gold  and  amber 
and  purple  of  trailing  sunset  clouds  ;  the  skies  we  see  in  pictures 
are  not  the  deep-blue  skies  that  hang  over  country  meadows  in 
summer  time  ;  gilded  frames  never  enclosed  seething  green  sea- 
wayes  or  strips  of  desolate  beaches,  so  terrible  or  sad  as  the 
revelation  of  a  wild,  wet,  sandy  shore  by  the  lightning's  flash ; 
no  pencil  ever  crayoned  shadows  so  dusky  as  lurk  in  the  hearts 
of  pine  forests ;  faces  of  wondrous  beauty  have  gleamed  upon  us, 
and  we  said  "  Lo !  the  painter  hath  created  a  marvel.  This 
hath  no  antecedent  or  counterpart  among  earthly  beings ! " 
when,  straightway,  some  rare  radiant  countenance,  illumined  by 
heart-smiles  and  shades  of  expression  which  eluded  the  artist's 
grasp,  upstarted  to  mock  anew  his  strivings. 

Art  never  yet  has  equalled  Nature  ;  and  this  is  why  no  por- 
trait upon  the  walls  of  a  large  picture-gallery  exceeded  in  beauty 
the  fair  young  girl  who  paused  upon  the  threshold  one  bright 
winter  morning,  and  threw  back  her  veil  from  a  face  where  the 
very  perfection  of  an  artist's  dream  of  loveliness  lay.  It  was  as 
if  a  picture  had  stepped  down  from  its  frame,  and  the  light  of  a 
beautiful  soul,  breaking  through  every  feature,  had  permeated  it 
into  full,  glowing,  rich  life. 

(230,) 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEX  WILL.        231 

The  attire  of  that  young  girl  was  of  the  commonest  materials, 
yet  fitted  exquisitely  a  perfect,  rounded,  flexile  form  slightly 
below  the  medium  height ;  curls  of  that  hue  which  poets  define 
as  "  brown  in  the  shadow  and  gold  in  the  sun  "  framed  an  oval 
face  of  classic  beauty;  eyes  of  hazel  seemed  dreamy  wells, 
brimming  with  thought  and  tenderness  ;  and  long  curling  lashes 
swept  delicate  and -transparent  cheeks. 

Hare  artist-girl,  Leafy  Earle  !-    One  has  written 

"  Methinks  all  poets  should  be  gentle,  fair, 
And  ever  young,  and  ever  beautiful ; 
I'd  have  all  poets  to  be  like  to  this,  — 
Gold-haired  and  rosy-lipped,  to  sing  of  Love," 

so,  methinks,  they  who  see  visions  and  dream  dreams  denied  to 
commoner  mortals,  they  who  strive  ever  to  portray  on  canvas  or 
embody  in  plastic  marble  the  one  idea  of  Perfection,  such  — 
painters  'and  sculptors,  as  well  as  poets,  who,  walking  in  their 
own  high  paths,  are  shielded  from  contact  with  earth's  meaner 
things  —  methinks  they  should  learn  some  subtle  alchemy  by 
which  the  Beauty  in  the  midst  whereof  they  dwell  might  become 
imparted  to  their  outward  being. 

Vain  wish !  No  more  the  gods  come  down  to  dwell  with 
men,  and  mortals  grow  radiant  and  beautiful  by  their  ennobling 
nearness  ;  no  more,  even,  as  in  that  elder  time  "  when  the  morn- 
ing stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy," 
the  Creator,  looking  upon  man  —  his  best  handiwork  —  pro- 
nounces him  "  good  ;  "  for,  alas  !  ours  is  a  sin-stained  world,  and 
the  trail  of  the  serpent  is  over  all.  With  the  downfall  of  man's 
purer,  nobler  nature,  went  also  his  high,  stately  beauty.  The 
primeval  curse  won  by  his  first  disobedience  —  "  By  the  sweat 
of  thy  brow  shalt  thou  earn  thy  bread"  —  how  has  it  trans- 
formed godlike  beings  to  dull,  delving  earthworms  —  erasing  the 


232        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN 

Divine  lineaments  of  those  created  originally  in  His  image  — 
dragging  us  ever,  ever,  nearer  the  dust !  Anomalies  greet  us 
at  every  turn.  Oftenest  mere  personal  beauty  is  the  veil  for 
mediocrity  or  vapidness ;  and,  as  the  commonest  or  unsightliest 
casket  may  hold  the  rarest  gem,  so  inferior  physiques,  or  Caliban 
shapes,  even,  enshrine  the  richest  natures,  most  vivid  imagina- 
tions, warmest  hearts. 

But,  fair  poet  and  artist-girl,  Leafy  Earle  —  how  harmonious 
the  blending  of  thy  mind  and  person  !  —  thy  delicate,  spirituelle 
loveliness  but  the  type  of  an  exquisite  mental  organization  ! 

"  She  was  born  'mong  water-mills, 
She  grew  up  'mong  flowers  and  rills, 
In  the  hearts  of  distant  hills. 

There,  into  her  being  stole 
Nature,  and  imbued  the  whole, 
And  illumed  her  face  and  soul." 

Fair,  delicate  flower,  transplanted  from  quiet  woodland  haunts, 
what  doest  thou  here  in  the  glare  and  din  of  the  great  toiling 
city? 

Let  us  see. 

Lingering  a  little  time  before  the  pictures,  the  girl  turned 
away  and  entered  the  adjoining  salesroom.  Producing  a  small 
portfolio  from  beneath  her  shawl,  she  paused  before  the  counter,  ^ 
addressing  a  few  words  to  a  clerk  behind  it. 

"  Ah  —  hum  !  pictures  for  sale  ?  "  yawned  the.  young  man 
with  a  bold  stare  of  undisguised  admiration  at  the  blushing  face 
before  him  —  "  Let  us  see  !  "  and  he  drew  forth  the  contents  of 
the  portfolio.  "  Pshaw !  we  have  hundreds  of  such  on  our 
hands  now.  But  ah !  what  have  we  here  ?  "  examining  two 
exquisite  miniature  landscapes  in  water  colors  —  "  Really,  these 
are  not  so  bad,  Miss  !  If  Mr.  Blake  were  in,  I  think  he  would 
purchase.  Can't  you  call  again  to-morrow  ?  " 


PEACE  :    OU    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  23% 

A  shade  of  disappointment  crept  about  the  artist-girl's  sweetly 
curved  mouth.  All  that  morning,  and  the  long  day  preceding, 
had  she  offered  those  pictures  for  sale,  and  at  every  application 
received  denial.  Her  need  was  imperative.  In  an  humble 
chamber  of  a  crowded  quarter  of  that  great  city  an  invalid 
mother  lay,  and  the  fruits  of  her  art  must  bring  food  and  medi- 
cine and  coal  to  that  mother's  apartment. 

"  If  you  please,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "  I  am  really  hi  need 
of  the  money  to-day." 

"  I  will  give  you  five  dollars  for  them,"  said  the  clerk  ab- 
ruptly. 

The  shade  of  disappointment  on  the  girl's  face  deepened. 
Those  beautiful,  beloved  paintings,  at  which  she  had  wrought 
hours  and  days  and  weeks  —  could  she  part  with  them  for  that 
paltry  sum  ?  "  Perhaps  I  had  better  call  to-morrow  when  the 
proprietor  is  in,"  she  faltered.  "  Or,  could  I  not  leave  one  with 
you  for  that  price  ?  for,  really,  sir,  I  thought  they  would  bring 
me  much  more." 

The  wily  clerk  read  her  need  in  her  hesitation.  "  No,  Miss," 
he  said,  coolly,  "  laying  the  paintings  back  in  the  port-folio. 
"  But  it's  no  matter.  I  offered  you  the  five  dollars  at  my  own 
risk,  and  after  all  perhaps  Mr.  Blake  might  not  want  them ; " 
and  he  turned  away  with  indifference.  "  Still,  I  would  not  mind 
keeping  my  first  offer,"  he  added,  looking  up  from  his  paper. 

Heart-sick  and  weary,  Leafy  Earle  was  on  the  point  of  yield- 
ing up  the  paintings. 

"  Pardon  me,  young  lady  —  but  /will  purchase  those  pictures 
at  a  better  price.  Will  you  take  twenty  dollars  for  them  ?  " 

Leafy  looked  up  from  the  white  hand  laid  upon  her  port-folio 
into  the  dark  handsome  face  of  a  tall,  gentlemanly-looking,  mid- 
dle aged  man.  She  had  not  observed  him  in  the  picture  gal- 
lery, nor  has  he  followed  her  into  the  salesroom  and  overheard 

20* 


234  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

the  colloquy  at  the  counter.  "With  a  gesture  of  assent  she  re- 
signed them  into  his  hand. 

He  examined  the  pictures,  and  at  length,  in  a  tone  of  kind- 
ness almost  paternal,  looked  up  fully  into  her  clear  hazel  eyes. 
"  My  child,  they  are  very  beautiful.  I  want  them  for  a  friend  " 

—  and  he  drew  out  his  purse. 

"  Oh,  s'ir,  you  are  too  kind !  I  thank  you  sincerely ! "  and 
with  flushed  cheek  and  dimmed  eyes  she  closed  her  taper  fingers 
over  the  two  golden  eagles  he  laid  in  her  rosy  palm. 

"  Stay,  my  child !  You  are  modest  of  your  talents.  These 
pictures  —  why,  they  are  exquisite  !  Stop  a  minute,  if  you 
please,"  for  Leafy  was  about  departing.  —  "  Will  you  not  give  me 
your  address  ?  I  shall  want  to  send  orders  for  more  of  these, 
sometime." 

Leafy  wrote  in  her  delicate  chirography  on  a  card,  "  Leafy 

Earle,  No.  10, Court,"  and  with  a  gentle  "Thank  you  ! 

You  are  very  kind,"  went  out.  Scarce  had  she  disappeared, 
when  the  purchaser  of  her  paintings  gave  a  short  laugh  and 
said  in  a  whisper  to  the  clerk,  — 

"  Who  is  she  ?  Beautiful  as  a  houri !  Has  she  ever  been  in 
here  before,  Smyth  ?  " 

"  No  —  never  laid  eyes  on  her.  But  she  is  devilish  hand- 
some. Ah,  Golding  —  you're  a  sad  dog !  But  come,  say,  shan't 
I  take  that  brace  of  landscapes  off  your  hands  for  a  cool  twenty- 
five  ?  They're  beauties,  anyhow.  Mr.  Blake  wouldn't  have  'em 
slip  through  his  fingers  for  that,  I'm  confident ! " 

"  Oh,  for  that  matter,  take  them ! "  replied  Hugh  Golding, 
carelessly  tossing  them  on  the  counter.  "  But  on  this  condition 

—  you  agree  to  take  all  the  pictures  I  may  bring  you  ?  " 

The  clerk  winked  significantly.  "Ah,  yes,  I  see!  Pretty 
girl  in  distress  —  connoisseur  in  art  —  plays  the  paternal  - —  or- 
ders pictures  for  friends  —  visits  her  often  —  ingratiates  himself 


PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  .        235 

into  her  favor.  Ah.  Golding,  havn't  done  with  your  old  ways  ? 
Mean  to  reform,  perhaps,  by  and  by  ?  It's  a  bargain  !  " 

"  Enough ! "  and  the  evil  man  gave  a  brilliant  yet  heartless 
smile,  as  he  stepped  out  on  the  pavement. 

Suddenly  turning  a  corner,  he  came  face  to  face  upon  Jasper 
Golding;  he  stopped,  confused  for  a  moment,  then  hastily  re- 
covering himself,  reached  forth  his  hand. 

"  Ah,  Jasper,  my  boy,  then  I  have  run  foul  of  you  at  last ! 
Where'd  you  drop  from  ?  —  the  skies  ?  Havn't  heard  a  lisp  of 
you  since  that  aifair  at  Cambridge.  Rather  bad,  that !  What 
the  devil  did  you  cut  up  such  capers  there  for,  just  because  I 
revealed  what  would  have  out,  sooner  or  later  ?  Come,  walk  to 
my  hotel  —  I  want  to  talk  that  all  over,"  and  he  familiarly  link- 
ed his  arm  in  the  young  man's. 

With  a  gesture  of  extreme  haughtiness  Jasper  drew  back. 

"  What !  Pretty  treatment  this  for  your  guardian,  sir  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  wilj  Golding,  —  an  air  of  well-counterfeited  sur- 
prise and  pain  overspreading  his  features. 

"  Mr.  Golding,"  and  Jasper's  face  was  deadly  pale  and  his 
voice  full  of  concentrated  scorn,  "  I  have  but  few  words  to  say  to 
you.  I  cursed  you  when  your  letter  reached  me  with  its  crush- 
ing revelation,  and  I  despise  you  now.  What  your  aim  was,  in 
rearing  me  through  boyhood,  and  then,  my  manhood  almost  at- 
tained, showering  on  me  those  red  hot  scorching  coals  of  dis- 
grace," and  Jasper  ground  his  te»th  together.  —  "  What  your 
aim  was,  I  say,  I  know  not,  nor  care  now.  It  might  have  been 
a  rare  farce  to  you,  but  it  was  tragedy  to  me.  But  it  is  past  — 
and  I  am  what  that  revelation  made  me  —  a  degraded  man. 
Bitter  as  my  heart  is  at  this  moment,  I  could  forgive  you  all, 
could  you  restore  to  me  the  blissful  ignorance  from  which  you 
rudely  hurled  me.  —  But  you  cannot !  Yet,  low  as  I  have 
fallen,  there  are  depths  to  which,  thank  God,  I  have  never  de- 


236      •  PEACE:   OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

scended,  and  never  will.  —  From  such  as  you,  my  guardian  and 
friend"  and  the  words  fell  with  withering  sarcasm,  " from  such 
as  you  I  will  henceforth  keep  aloof!  —  Hugh  Golding,  during  a 
six  months  stay  in  this  city,  your  name  has  not  escaped  me.  — 
Sir,  I  know  you  —  and  be  assured  that,  in  future,  there  can  be 
nothing  in  common  between  him  who  passed  once  as  your  adopt- 
ed son  and  ward,  and-  Hugh  Golding  —  the  gambler,  libertine, 
and  hypocrite  !  That  is  all :  now  let  me  pass,  sir !  I  have  the 
honor  to  wish  you  a  very  good  morning ! " 

Golding  stood  for  a  moment  transfixed  to  the  spot,  with  a 
blaze  of  atonishment  and  anger  in  his  eyes ;  then,  giving  utter- 
ance to  a  prolonged  whistle,  he  walked  on. 

"  Bah !  the  lad  talks  bravely  —  but  I'll  take  the  mettle  out  of 
him !  "  he  said  contemptuously.  "  Pretty  treatment  this,  for 
bringing  him  up  in  a  decent  Christian  manner !  —  But  that  vil- 
lain, Revere,  brought  it  upon  him.  Hang  it !  if  I  don't  start 
the  story  of  this  illegitimate  son !  It  can't  injure  me  any  more 
in  the  boy's  estimation,  for  it's  evident  enough  he  hates  me ;  — 
but  it  will  blemish  the  hitherto  cunningly  preserved  spotless 
name  of  the  wealthy  merchant,  and  secure  my  revenge  in  that 
quarter !  I'll  do  it,  by  Jove ! " 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

There  is  a  beauty  of  the  body ;  the  superficial  polish  of  a  statue, 
The  symmetry  of  form  and  feature,  delicately  carved  and  painted. 
But  watch  it  well;  for  vanity  and  sin,  malice,  hate,  suspicion,  • 

Lowering  as  clouds  upon  the  countenance,  will  disenchant  its  charms. 
The  needful  complexity  of  beauty  claimeth  mind  and  soul, 
Though  many  coins  of  foul  alloy  pass  current  for  the  true  : 
And  albeit  fairness  in  the  creature  shall  often  co-exist  with  excellence, 
Yet  hath  many  an  angel  shape  been  tenanted  by  fiends. 

PROVERBIAL  PHILOSOPHY. 

"  CORA  —  Cora,  come  down,"  said  old  nurse  Allen  at  the 
school-room  door  —  "  Your  papa  wants  you  ! " 

"  Good  bye,  Miss  Peace ! "  said  the  child  gathering  up  her 
toys  and  large  waxen  doll,  —  "I  must  take  dolly  down  —  papa 
hasn't  seen  her,"  and  hugging  it  tightly  in  one  arm,  she  skipped 
lightly  down  the  staircase ;  and  a  little  time  after  found  her  duly 
installed  on  his  knee,  playing  with  his  watch  seals,  playfully 
patting  his  dark  cheeks,  cautiously  venturing  to  touch  the  mys- 
terious "  black  bushes "  that  ornamented  his  chin,  or  chattering 
gleefully  of  the  acquirements  of  her  wonderful  "  dolly." 

And  the  strong  man's  heart  throbbed  warmly,  and  his  eye 
grew  tender.  He  remembered  a  time,  upwards  of  three  years 
before,  when  he  had  clasped  her  —  a  baby  child  —  to  his  heart, 
laid  her  back  on  the  nurse's  lap  and  then  gone  forth  to  his  wan- 
derings; he  thought  of  one  now  sleeping  —  how  beautiful  she 
had  looked  upon  her  bridal  day,  how  ghastly  her  features  upon 
her  death-bed ;  he  thought  of  his  early  dreams  of  happiness  — 
how  they  had  faded  like  ashes  in  his  touch ;  and  gradually  the 
old  expression  of  bitterness  stole  over  his  features. 

(237) 


238        PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

Little  Cora  "had  been  watching  his  face  during  this  silent 
mood ;  and,  frightened  by  their  gathering  gloom,  strove  to  break 
the  clasp  of  his  circling  arms.  This  aroused  him. 

"  Why,  would  my  little  one  leave  her  papa  ?  "  he  said  mourn- 
fully. 

™ 

"  But,  papa  so  still  —  Cora  'fraid,"  she  ventured,  shyly. 

"4Well,  papa  was  very  still,"  he  replied  with  a  smile.  "  He 
must  talk  to  his  birdie,"  and  his  eye  grew  moist  with  tenderness. 

"  Papa  cry  !  Papa  cry,  like  Miss  Peace,  when  Cora  find  her 
all  alone,"  and  two  dewy  coral  lips  touched  his  eyelids. 

"  Miss  Peace  —  and  who  is  she,  little  one  ?  "  he  asked,  after  a 
pause. 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  !  Dear,  good  Miss  Peace ! "  and  the 
child's  eye  dilated  in  wonder.  "  Why,  she  lives  up  stairs,  and 
reads  out  of  big  books,  and  makes  Vicky  play  on  the  piano,  and 
'Lexis  say  ever  so  many  hard  lessons.  And  she  lets  me  see  all 
the  pitcher  books,  and  tells  pretty  stories  !  " 

"  Really !   a  paragon  !  "   said  Palfrey,  smiling. 

"Oh,  she  is  real  good!  She  says  she  do  love  little  dirls  — 
and  I  guess  she  love  dollies,  too,  'cause  she  makes  mine  such 
pretty  aprons  :  —  see  !  But,  come  up  and  see  Miss  Peace  — 
come ! "  and  she  slipped  down  and  began  tugging  at  his  hand. 

"  Not  now,  my  dear,"  he  said,  patting  her  curly  head.  "  Aunt, 
I  take  it  that  this  Miss  Peace  is  the  governess  ?  "  addressing 
Mrs.  Delano,  who  at  that  moment  entered. 

"The  governess?"  and  a  malicious  look  darted  toward  the 
little  girl  —  "  Ah,  yes  ;  a  poor  girl  whom  I  have  obtained  recent- 
ly. Your  little  darling  has  had  the  liberty  of  the  school-room 
with  my  children.  She  is  very  fond  of  Victorine." 

" But  I  like  Miss  Peace  best"  persisted  the  child  with  anima- 
tion. "  Oh,  she  is  real  nice  !  do  come,  papa  —  I  will  make  her 
tell  you  such  a  funny  story ! " 


PEACE:  .OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        239 

"No,  no  —  not  to-day!"  he  replied,  catching  up  the  little 
pleader  and  tossing  her  high-above  Ms  head  —  "but  really,  aunt, 
this  elf  has  quite  awakened  my  curiosity.  Have  you  for  a 
governess  some  Princess  of  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments, 
or  an  Aunty  Wonderful  in  disguise  ?  " 

" Or  a  Mother  Goose"  suggested  Florence  Delano,  in  a  voice 
whose  sneer  was  lost  upon  Palfrey  as  he  turned  toward  the  sofa 
where  she  sat  busy  upon  a  graceful  trifle  of  embroidery. 

"  Mother  Goose  ?  "  repeated  Palfrey,  advancing  nearer  while 
a  genial  smile  lit  up  his  fine  eyes  and  an  expression  of  quiet  hu- 
mor played  about  his  lips,  "  Why,  my  fair  cousin,  your  words 
have  conjured  up  a  host  of  memories.  That  same  benignant 
dame  was  the  Ulustrissima  of  female  poets  to  my  childish  imagi- 
nation. Grecian  Sappho  never  sang  so  divinely,  nor  tale  of  her 
headlong  death,  adown  Leucadian  steeps,  sank  half  so  painfully 
upon  my  heart,  as  the  affecting  recital  of 

"  Ding  dong  bell, 

The  cat's  in  the  well !  " 

No  classics  of  the  Homeric  or  Hesiodic  school,  conned  in  after 
years  under  the  kind  protection  of  my  Alma  Mater,  were  im- 
pressed on  Memory's  tablets  like  those  wonderful  Nursery  Rhymes ; 
and  the  voice  of  my  old  nurse,  croning  them  over  while  I  sat  on 
her  knee  beside  the  twilight  fire,  was  sweeter  than  any  lauded 
cantatrice  or  'prima  donna  I  have  heard  these  latter  days  in 
crowded  theatres.  After  all,  the  child  is  your  only  true  critic, 
—  and  I  have  wonderful  faith  in  childhood,  cousin  mine,"  he 
added,  with  a  dash  of  feeling. 

"  But,  to  change  the  subject  somewhat  abruptly,  do  you  go  to 
Mrs.  St.  Albans's  to-night  ?  Her  '  At  home  '  is  on  my  table." 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  That  is,  I  believe  mamma  has  accepted,  — 
Have  you  not,  mamma  ?  "  asked  the  fair  beauty  languidly. 


240        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear.  But  pray,  do  not  go  unless  you  wish  ! 
Would  you  believe  me,  nephew  —  this  naughty  girl  of  mine  "  — 
and  Mrs.  Delano  tapped  Florence's  cheek  —  "  has  absolutely  to 
be  forced  into  society !  I  don't  know  but  I  should  have  had 
her  turning  nun  on  my  hands,  or  settling  down  into  a  quiet, 
humdrum,  domestic  sort  of  body,  long  ere  this,  if  I  had  not  sent 
out  invitations  and  accepted  many,  solely  to  win  her  from  such  a 
stupid  life  !  " 

Lucien  Palfrey  cast  a  look  of  interest  upon  the  beautiful  girl 
who  sat  there,  fair  as  a  peerless  lily,  in  her  delicate  cashmere 
morning  wrapper,  and  whose  cheek  did  not  redden  for  the 
mother  who  could  utter  so  deliberate  a  falsehood.  For  Mrs. 
Delano  knew  the  rock  upon  which  her  nephew's  bai;que  of 
domestic  happiness  had  stranded  in  his  brief  wedded  life  ;  and 
Florence,  too,  anxious  to  bring  Lucien  Palfrey  to  her  feet,  was 
prepared  to  play  any  part.  Thus  she  did  not  hesitate  to  take 
up  the  cue  her  mother's  words  had  given  her. 

"Indeed,  mamma,"  said  the  beauty  with  a  becoming  pout, 
"  now  why  must  you  tell  cousin  Lucien  that  ?  You  make  me 
out  the  dullest  of  mopes,  when  I  had  really  intended  to  go  every- 
where, and  invite  everybody  here,  in  honor  of  his  return." . 

"  But  suppose  cousin  Lucien  will  not  accept  the  sacrifice  ?  " 
said  Palfrey  with  a  smile.  "  But,  seriously,  Florence,  am  I  to 
believe  that  one  so  eminently  qualified  by  her  accomplishments 
to  shine  in  the  gayest  circles  is  sincere  in  preferring  the  quiet  of 
her  own  home  to  such  pleasures  ?  " 

Florence  looked  up. 

"  Indeed,  you  cannot  blame  me,  Mr.  Palfrey  —  cousin  Lucien, 
I  mean  ! "  she  said  with  modest  hesitation.     "  I  am  aware  that 
society  has  claims  upon  every  one,  which  we  ought  not  to  ignore  ; 
but,  to  me,  they  are  often  irksome,  and  I  find  myself  longing  for  ^ 
nobler  pursuits  than  this  ceaseless  chase  after  Pleasure." 


PEACE  :    OB    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  241 

Oh,   she    played    her    part  right  well  —  that    artful    girl ! 

A  flush  of  gratification  lit  her  companion's  cheek.  It  was 
something  decidedly  new  to  the  world-weary  man,  to  listen  to 
such  words  from  girlish  lips.  But  the  old  sore  yet  rankled  in 
his  heart;  and  though  a  smile  crept  about  his  lips  the  olden 
bitterness  was  infused  into  his  reply. 

"  Then,  Florence,  I  have  to  say  that  you  differ  greatly  from 
most  of  your  sex  whom  it  has  been  my  fortune  to  meet.  Why, 
I  had  the  idea  that  an  elegant  equipage,  town  establishment, 
Opera  boxes,  'loves  of  bonnets,'  and  jewelry,  were  indispensable 
to  a  woman's  idea  of  bliss !  And,  indeed,  I  fancied  that  the 
words  '  domestic  enjoyment,'  '  home,'  and  '  happiness,'  were 
obsolete ! " 

But  Florence  Delano  understood  too  well  the  man  beside  her, 
and  the  stake  for  which  she  had  cast  down  her  truthfulness,  to 
falter  now. 

"Cousin  Lucien,"  —  and  dropping  her  eyes,-  yet  smiling 
sweetly,  she  laid  her  white  hand  on  his  arm  —  "  do  you  believe 
there  are  no  true  women,  who  prefer  their  own  firesides  and  the 
companionship  of  kindred  souls  to  the  hollow  flatteries  and  friv- 
olous pleasures  of  the  ball-room  ?  Oh,  believe  me,  cousin,  you 
wrong  us  sadly.  But  really  ! "  —  and  she  laughed  lightly  —  "I 
did  not  intend  to  read  an  essay  on  "  The  True  Woman,"  or  a 
homily  on  "  Domestic  Joys,"  —9-  especially  to  one  who  has  been 
so  cosmopolitan  in  his  tastes  for  the  past  few  years.  And  yet,  I 
have  a  mind  to  try  and  win*  you  to  my  theory.  See  !  I  throw 
y,pu  a  challenge  ! "  —  and  she  playfully  drew  a  tiny  white  kid 
glove  from  her  work-box  and  tossed  it  toward  him. 

"  F  faithj  my  ladye  fair,"  said  Palfrey,  securing  the  glove,  "  I 
accept  the  gage,  but  not  as  a  challenge,  though.  Rather  let  me 
wear  it  here,  next  my  heart,  as  a  loyal  knight  should ;  and.  thus 
I  cry  your  pardon  for  my  ungallantry,"  —  lifting  her  white  hand 

21 


242        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

to  his  lips.  "  But  Florence,"  —  and  his  voice  grew  sadly  ear- 
nest, and  his  trifling  vanished,  — "  read'  to  me,  when  you  like, 
the  homilies  my  heart  loves  best ;  for,  my  dear  cousin,  you  can 
never  know  how,  amid  all  my  past  three  years'  wanderings,  I 
would  have  given  all  my  wealth  —  aye,  my  right  hand,  even  — 
for  what  has  always  been  the  Mecca  shrine  of  my  heart- 
pilgrimages  —  the  goal  of  all  my  desires  —  true  hearts  to  love 
me,  and  a  happy,  quiet  spot  to  call  my  home  !  Cousin,  La  my 
boyhood  they  called  me  Dreamer ;  but  now, 

"  Youth  with  all  its  dreams  is  over, 

Manhood's  seal  is. on  my  brow; 
Life's  Meridian  Line  approaching, 

Turn  I  back  a  moment  now  — 
Turn  and  gaze  through  lengthened  vistas, 

Back  to  Childhood's  rosy  hours  — 
To  the  Morning  and  the  Spring-time  — 

To  the  pathway  'raong  the  flowers. 

"  Gone  is  Morning,  gone  is  Spring-time  — 

Gone  the  early  Summer  days  — 
Gone  with  all  their  buds  and  flowers  — 

Gone  with  all  their  golden  rays  ! 
Gone  are  hopes  most  fondly  cherished, 

Plans  matured  with  thoughtful  care : 
Castles  grand,  by  Fancy  builded, 

All  have  melted  back  to  air ! 

"  Youth  hath  passed  away  like  morning, 

All  its  dewy  freshness  gone, 
And  my  path  is  'mong  the  mountains, 

Which  was  erst  upon  the  lawn  ; 
Many  a  league,  in  truth,  I've  wandered, 

On  Life's  checkered,  devious  way, 
Since  I  started  from  the  Orient 

At  the  dawning  of  the  day. 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        243 

"  Oft  in  sunshine,  oft  in  shadow, 

On  my  way  thus  far  I've  come, 
Still  a  lonely,  exiled  wanderer  — 

Yearning  still  for  Love  and  Home  — 
Yearning  for  a  place  of  refuge 

From  the  world's  unceasing  strife, 
Where,  by  loving  arms  encircled, 

I  may  find  the  Goal  of  Life  ! " 

"  But  I  weary  you,  Florence,"  he  said  after  the  pause  fol- 
lowing this  recital,  the  flush  of  enthusiasm  fading  from  his 
cheeks.  "  I  am  a  very  raven  to  bring  my  croakings  into  a  bird 
of  Paradise's  nest ! " 

"  No,  not  a  bird  of  Paradise  !  Say,  rather,  an  humble  spar- 
row, that  is  content  to  sit  and  sing  beneath  the  eaves,"  replied 
Florence  with  a  brilliant  smile. 

"  Half-won  already.  I.  have  touched  the  key-note  to  his 
heart,"  said  the  fair  blonde  triumphantly,  as  his  footstep  died 
away  in  the  hall.  "  Domestic  joys  !  —  ha,  ha  ! "  —  and  a  low 
silvery  laugh  rippled  its  waves  of  sound  throughout  the  apart- 
ment. 

That  night,  Lucien  Palfrey  found  his  cousin  in  a  bewitching 
negligee  costume  in  her  boudoir. 

"  Mamma  has  been  gone  to  Mrs.  St.  Albans's  a  full  half-hour. 
But  do  not  lose  your  evening's  pleasure  for  me." 

"  For  once,  gallant  knight  must  disobey  his  ladye  fair,"  he 
said,  seating  himself  beside  her ;  and  it  is  needless  to  add  that 
Florence  did  not  send  him  away. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

And  a  little  child  shall  lead  them. 

HOLT  WBIT. 

u  AND  so  the  ladies  are  absent  ?  " 
"  Yes,  sir  !  at  the  Opera,"  was  the  porter's  reply. 
Palfrey  half  turned  to  descend  the  steps,  then,  changing  his 
mind,  entered  ;  deposited  his  hat  and  cloak  in  the  hall ;  and  ran 
lightly  up  the  stair-case.     Meeting  old   Nurse  Allen  on   the 
upper  landing,  he  said  cheerfully,  "  Good  evening,  aunty !  this  is 
Cora's  room  —  the  nursery,  I  believe  ?  "  pointing  to  the  left. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Lucien  —  but  the  little  thing's  fast  asleep,  I  reckon. 
I  left  her  in  her  crib,     I'll  jest  step  back  with  you." 
"  No  matter,  aunty.     You  were  going  below  stairfe  ?  " 
"  Only  to  sit  a  few  minutes  with'  the  housekeeper,  that's  all !  " 
"  Well,  never  mind  me  !     Go  down,  and  I'll  just  step  in  and 
sit  by  my  little  one  a  few  minutes  before  I  go  down  town.    Good 
night ! " 

A  shaded  lamp  cast  a  faint  light  over  the  apartment ;  a  child's 
crib,  draped  jn  white,  filled  a  small  recess  at  one  extremity ;  and 
a  little  rocking-chair  stood  where  its  youthful  owner  had  left  it, 
near  the  grate.  Advancing  to  the  crib,  Palfrey's  foot  touched 
something  on  the  carpet.  It  was  a  dainty  kid  shoe,  ^till  rounded 
with  the  swell  of  a  tiny  foot ;  and,  holding  it  in  his  hand,  a 
tender  smile  rippled  about  his  lips.  Then,  looking  down  where 
lay  dollsj  toys  and  picture-books,  scattered  about,  he  said  softly, 
"  Care-free  child,  these  are  your  happiest  days ! "  then  parted 
the  lace  curtains  from  the  crib. 
(244) 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILT,.        245 

But  no  little  sleeper  lay  on  tlie  snowy  pillows,  though  they 
bore  the  imprint  of  a  small  head  ;  and  the  counterpane  trailed 
over  the  crib-side  as  though  she  had  just  crept  out. 

"  Cora  !  Cora !  where  are  you,  my  child  ? "  said  Palfrey, 
peering  about  the  room,  in  corners,  under  tables  and  behind 
curtains,  "  Little  one,  I  will  get  you  !  "  for  the  thought  involun- 
tarily crossed  his  -mind,  that  the  playful  child,  hearing  his 
approach,  had  slipped  out  and  purposely  hidden  to  tease  him. 

Presently  a  smothered  laugh  was  heard  in  the  direction  of  the 
sliding-door  communicating  with  the  school-room ;  and  a  little 
curly  head  peeped  out  from  behind  a  large  arm-chair,  two  blue 
eyes  sparkled  roguishly,  and  with  a  gay  "  Papa  !  papa  !  "  Cora 
bounded  to  his  arms. 

"  Why,  little  one,"  and  he  clasped  her  tightly  — "  Papa 
thought  the  fairies  had  stolen  you.  Now  I  shall  put  you  right 
back  into  your  bed  again." 

"  No,  no  !  "  and  she  slipped  adroitly  to  the  carpet,  fleeing  in 
the  direction  of  the  school-room  door,  "  No,  no  —  Cora  don't 
want  to  go  to  bed  now !  She  wants  to  hear  Miss  Peace  tell  the 
pretty  stories.  Come,  papa,  come  too  !  "  and  tugging  hard  at 
his  hand,  before  he  fully  comprehended  her  movement  she  had 
pushed  aside  the  door,  and  drawn  him  toward  the  school-room 
fire  where,  reading  beside  a  table,  sat  Peace  Wedgewood  the 
governess. 

Suffering  himself  to  be  pulled  down  into  a  chair  which,  with 
a  great  display  of  tiny  strength,  the  child  had  dragged  toward 
the  grate,  Lucien  Palfrey  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a 
beautiful  young  girl  into  whose  lap  Cora  climbed  fearlessly,  and 
winding  her  arms  about  her  neck  pleaded,  after  a  long  breath, 
"  There,  I  got  him  —  but  it  was  ever  so  hard  !  Now,  dear  Miss 
Peace,  tell  my  big  papa  a  nice  story  !  " 

"Why,  Cora  Palfrey !" 

21* 


246  PEACE:   OK  THE  STOLEN 

A  slight  flush  of  embarrassment  rose  to  the  governess's  cheek, 
and  she  involuntarily  started  up.  Palfrey  rose  also,  a  smile 
flitting  across  his  lips. 

"Pray,  don't  go  !"  he  said  earnestly.  "It  is  I  who  am  to 
blame  for  intruding  here.  I  should  have  known  better  than  to 
follow  a  wild,  wayward  child,  and  will  depart  at  once,  if  need 
be ;  and  yet  it  is  right  pleasant  here,"  glancing  from  the  fresh 
young  face  before  him  to  the  table  laden  with  books,  "  and  why 
must  the  edict  of  banishment  be  spoken  ?  " 

Peace  lifted  her  eyes  involuntarily  to  a  genial,  smiling  coun- 
tenance. "  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  she  said  with  self-posses- 
sion. "  I  were  sadly  deficient  in  politeness  or  hospitality,  other- 
wise. Will  you  not  be  seated  ?  "  and  she  laid  her  hand  upon  a 
chair. 

u  Thank  you,"  replied  Palfrey.  "  But  first  —  since  there  is 
no  third  party  to  perform  the  ceremony  of  introduction,  and  this 
little  madcap  does  not  seem  suitably  impressed  with  the  necessity 
of  these  points  of  etiquette  —  we  must,  perforce,  become  our 
own  mediums.  Accordingly,  permit  me  to  present  to  Miss 
Peace  —  Peace  —  really,  I  am  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed,"  and 
he  paused  with  a  ludicrously  grave  air. 

u  I  am  Peace  Wedgewood,  the  governess,"  was  the  reply  with 
a  low  laugh. 

"  Ah  yes,  thank  you !  Then,  Miss  Peace  Wedgewood,  gov- 
erness, I  am  Lucien  Palfrey,  M.  D.,  father  of  this  little  elf  here 
—  at  your  service  ! "  and  bowing  her  into  a  seat  he  sat  down 
opposite,  lifting  Cora  to  his  knee. 

In  the  short  pause  that  followed,  Peace  lowered  her  eyes  to 
the  glowing  grate  —  and  her  companion,  studying  her  counte- 
nance, had  no  inclination  to  break  the  silence,  —  until,  finding  it 
becoming  irksome,  he  said,  caressing  Cora's  curls  the  while, 

a  You  will  not  think  me  a  flatterer,  Miss  Wedgewood,  if  I  say 


PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  247 

I  do  not  longer  wonder  that  this  little  one  is  tempted  to  forego 
slumber  for  listening  to  fairy  tales.  Nor  will  I  hesitate  to  ac- 
knowledge that  I  have  a  decided  penchant  for  hearing  such 
narratives,  myself  —  since,  as  somebody  asserts,  men  are  but 
children  of  a  larger  growth ;  so  I  have  half  a  mind  to  request  a 
like  treatment." 

"Oh,  yes  indeed, '  papa !"  exclaimed  the  child,  half-compre- 
hending his  words,  and  slipping  from  his  arms  toward  the 
teacher.  "  Do,  p'ease,  dear  Miss  Peace,  tell  my  big  papa  'bout 
the  great  ugly  thing  that  ate  the  good  grandmother  !  Oh,  do  !  " 

A  smile  gathered  about  Peace's  lips. 

"  What  does  the  chick  mean  ?  "  queried  Palfrey. 

"Why,  don't  anybody  know?"  said  Cora  pettishly.  "The 
great  naughty  wolf,  that  ate  the  grandmamma  all  up,  and  put  the 
bones  under  the  bed  —  and  had  such  great  eyes  —  and  such 
gre-a-t  mouth  ?  But  do  say  it  all,  Miss  Peace ! "  coaxingly 
putting  her  two  soft  palms  against  the  teacher's  cheeks. 

"  Not  now,  my  dear  !  "  she  answered  softly.  A  grieved  look 
crept  about  the  child's  mouth ;  she  turned  appealingly  to  her 
father. 

"  It  is  no  matter !  Do  not  tease  your  teacher  to-night. 
Come,  let  me  take  you  back  to  bed.  Nurse  will  scold  her  little 

girl." 

But  Cora  evidently  did  not  relish  the  proposition.  Snuggling 
her  head  down  to  Peace's  shoulder,  she  hid  her  face. 

"  Let  her  remain,  please.  She  will  sleep  presently,"  pleaded 
Peace.  "  She  often  steals  in  here  of  evenings,  and  falls  asleep 
so.  During  many  hours  of  loneliness  since  I  came  to  this 
house,  even  the  company  of  a  little  one  like  this,"  and  her  hand 
smoothed  the  sunny  curls  with  a  caressing  movement,  "  has  been 
very  cheering  to  me." 

Her  eyes  sought  the  dim  glow  of  the  cindered  coal  fire,  and 


248  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

her  head  leaned  listlessly  against  the  back  of  the  high  carven 
chair. 

Palfrey's  eye  rested  appreciatingly  on  the  picture  before  him. 
With  her  sable  mourning  attire  enhancing  the  pale  fairness  of 
her  complexion  —  her  soft  hair,  burnished  almost  into  gold  by 
the  glowing  firelight,  disposed  in  smooth  bands  over  her  white 
forehead  —  her  meek,  drooping  eyes,  —  her  small  white  hands 
clasped  about  the  child's  form  —  she  seemed  a  beautiful  Ma- 
donna picture,  fairer  tlian  any  he  had  gazed  upon  in  his  wander- 
ings. 

"Miss  "Wedgewobd,"  and  his  voice  thrilled  with  sympathy, 
"  if  a  child  like  this  is  your  only  companion,  you  must  be  very 
lonely  here.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

Peace  raised  her  drooping  eyes.  "  Yes  —  it  is  so  different 
here,''  she  said.  "  I  came  from  a  large  school,  and  I  am  lonely 
here,  but  I  do  net  think  of  it  much.  These  are  my  companions, 
mostly,  in  my  solitary  hours,"  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  her 
books. 

"  Yes,"  said  Palfrey,  taking  up  a  volume  of  Bryant's  poems 
open  at  the  Thanatopsis,  "  and  you  choose  wisely.  Books  are 
the  truest  companions.  They  bring  us  the  gathered  lore  of  the 
historian,  the  sublime  crqutions  of  the  poet,  the  fascinating  tissue 
woven  warp  and  woof  from  the  romancist's  brain." 

"And  what  is  better,  they  change  not,  nor  grow  cold,  nor 
leave  us.  Earthly  friends  may  perish,"  and  Peace  spoke  sadly, 
"  but  with  these  faithful  ones  left  us,  we  can  never  be  wholly 
alone.'' 

Palfrey  smiled  appreciatingly.  "  You  have  known  bereave- 
ment, then  ?  "  he  asked  kindly,  glancing  at  her  sable  dress. 

"  Yes,  I  am  all  alone  in  the  world  !  " 

Those  few  sad  words  thrilled  his  very  heart. 

But,  as  yet,  it  was  no  feeling  of  common  love  which  moved 


PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  249 

Lucien  Palfrey  toward  the  lonely  Peace.  Much  as  a  father 
might  have  gazed  upon  a  daughter,  or  an  elder  brother  longed 
to  cheer  a  sorrowing  sister,  so  his  sympathetic  soul  warmed 
toward  her. 

"And  so,  in  your  solitude  you  turned  to  these  silent  teach- 
ers?" he  said  at  length.  "Most,  like  you,  young  and  fair, 
would  have  sought  instead,  the  gayeties  and  allurements  of  the 
world." 

"  Is  it  so  very  pleasant  then  —  this  great  world  ?  "  asked 
Peace  in  a  quiet  tone. 

"Its  pleasures  are  always  fair  and  glittering  to  the  young. 
Have  you  never  pined  for  them,  sometimes  ?  " 

Peace  smiled.  There  was  a  sudden  flash  of  her  eyes  —  but 
their  lids  drooped  quickly  as  if  to  crush  back  their  bright- 
ness. 

"  My  experiences  of  life,  although  neither  stirring  or  various, 
have  partaken  too  largely  of  the  actual  to  leave  me  little  time  for 
the  ideal.  My  wishes  have  been  circumscribed  to  an  humble 
sphere.  I  am  no  dreamer." 

"  But  surely  you  do  not  mean  that  you  never  longed  for 
some  change  from  the  stereotyped  routine  of  daily  life  ?  Long- 
fellow, somewhere,  in  speaking  of  a  school-mistress,  says 

"  She  dwells  beside  Kanawha's  tide 

In  valleys  green  and  cool ; 
And  all  her  hope  and  all  her  pride 
Are  in  the  village  school," 

and  is  it  that  you  are  thus  absorbed  in  your  vocation,  and  rest 
content  ?  You  are  an  anomaly,  then.  Women  are  said  to 
sigh  for  change  constantly,  you  know  !  " 

"  A  libel  upon  us,"  retorted  Peace  gayly.  "  You  see  that  I, 
for  one,  am  the  embodiment  of  Content"—  that  this  school-room 


250  PEACE  :  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

is  my  queenly  realm,  my  pupils  most  loyal  subjects,  and  the 
sovereign  supremely  happy  in  her  birthright !  " 

"  Then,  if  I  am  to  believe  you,  Miss  Wedgewood,"  replied 
Palfrey  —  "if  you  can  thus  shut  the  door  on  the  Past,  dwell  in 
the  Present,  nor  strive  constantly  to  pierce  into  the  fathomless 
Future,  then  indeed  you  do  enjoy  a  negative  kind  of  happiness. 
You  know  nothing  of  that  unresting  heart  Avhich  is  haunted,  aye,. 
tortured,  by  Memory  —  you  know  nothing  of  the  wearying, 
fruitless  search  after  peace  !  "  —  and  with  a  sigh  he  leaned  his 
head  on  his  thin  white  hand,  gazing  into  the  grate. 

And  Peace's  head  drooped  lower,  till  her  face  was  buried  in 
Cora's  curls.  What  could  those  two  —  each  dowried  with  such 
sensitive,  high-souled  natures  —  know  of  the  thoughts  that  slept 
in  each  other's  hearts  ?  of  the  death-white  face  ever  haunting 
Lucien  Palfrey,  and  the  unrealized  visions  of  a  dreamy  youth- 
time  reaching  their  mocking  fingers  from  out  the  perished  past 

—  or  the  one  deathless  wish,  whose  strong  under-current  swept 
continually  through  the  waters  of  Peace's  soul  — "  Oh,  to  live 
no  more  unloved  and  lonely."     Each  had  veiled  their  nature. 
At  length  Palfrey  drew  a  long  sigh,  and  withdrew  his  gaze  from 
the  fire.     He  met  the  uplifted  tearful  eyes  of  the  young  girl. 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Wedgewood,"  he  said  earnestly  and 
warmly.  "  I  have  done  wrong  in  making  your,  doubtless  jesting 
words, a  text  for  a  mournful  homily.  Every  heart  knoweth  its 
own  bitterjaess.  Sorrow  comes  early  to  some,  late  to  others,  but 
surely  to  all.  Even  this  little  dreamer  has  her  transient  griefs 

—  tiny  clouds  in  her  young  life-sky.     Ah,  would  they  might 
never  grow  larger,  or  darker,  with  years  !     But  she  is  asleep,  I 
see  —  let  me  relieve  you ! "  —  and  he  carried  the  child  to  her 
bed  in  the  adjoining  room. 

"  I  have  spoken  freely,"  he  added,  returning, ."  but,  somehow, 
in  speaking  to  you  thus,*it  seems  as  if  I  had  known  you  always. 


PEACE  I  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILB.  251 

I  never  had  a  sister,  Miss  Wedgewood  —  but  you  are  the  real- 
ization of  my  ideal  of  one ;  and  at  least  there  is  one  bond  be- 
tween us  —  our  mutual  loneliness.     For,  save  the  little  dreamer 
on   yonder   pillows,  no   drop  of  my  blood  runs   in   any  living* 
being's  veins." 

"  Mrs.  Delano,  and  Florence  ?  "  said  Peace  inquiringly. 

"  The  former  is  my  aunt  but  by  courtesy.  She  was  the  rela- 
tive of  Cora's  mother.  But  I  see  you  have  been  playing,"  — 
and  he  approached  the  open  piano,  and  leaning  over  it  hummed 
the  song  upon  the  music-rack. 

Peace  stood  by,  and  a  shiver  of  delight  ran  through  her  frame 
as,  in  a  rich  tenor  voice,  he  lightly  sang : 

"  The  dearest  spot  on  earth  to  me 

Is  home,  sweet  home  ! 

The  fairy-land  I  long  to  see 

Is  home,  sweet  home  ! " 

• 

With  an  abrupt  movement  he  turned  away.  A  bitter  spasm 
contracted  his  lips  ;  then,  observing  the  brilliant  flush  of 
Peace's  cheeks  and  the  dreamy  light  in.  her  eyes,  he  smiled 
sadly. 

"  You  said  you  were  no  dreamer  —  but,  Miss  Wedgewood,  of 
what  are  you  thinking  now  ?  Perhaps  your  imagination  rears 
the  fabric  of  a  beautiful  dream  which  has  faded  for  me  —  domes- 
tic happiness.  Once,  I  could  have  sung  these  words  in  fullest 
faith ;  now,  they  are  dead  letters  on  my  lips.  God  grant  no 
other  heart  may  be  desolate  as  mine  !  But  what  am  I  saying  ? 
I  weary  you.  And  yet,  how  lightly  time  has  passed !  Ten 
o'clock,  as  I  live  ! "  —  looking  at  his  watch.  "  Verily,  Miss 
Wedgewood,  I  believe  you  are  an  enchantress,  holding  the  hours 
in  a  rosy  thrall ;  for  I  came  near  forgetting  that  I  must  look  in 
at  the  Opera  House  on  my  return.  I  see  now,  what  lure  brings 


252  I*EACE:   OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

my  child  hither ;  and  am  sorely  tempted  to  ask  the  favor  of  an 
occasional  admittance  also.  Am  I  presuming  in  asking  this, 
Miss  "Wedgewood  ?  May  I  come  here  again,  sometime  ? "  he 
added,  lingering, 

"  No,  and  yes,"  replied  Peace  frankly. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

The  fateful  day  passed  by  ;  and  then  there  came 

Another  and  another. 

MAKCIAN  COLONNA. 


She  never  felt  — 

The  summer  fly  that  flits  so  gayly  round  thee  — 
She  never  felt  one  moment  what  I  feel 
With  such  a  silent  tenderness,  and  keep 

So  closely  in  my  heart. 

PERCIVAL. 

THE  long  cold  winter  had  melted  into  spring.  To  the  pale, 
earnest  student,  Jasper  Goldihg,  gaining  a  knowledge  of  his  pro- 
fession with  hasty  strides,  and  above  all  striving  manfully  to  for- 
get one  whom  it  was  a  sin  to  love  then,  the  months  had  passed 
rapidly,  if  not  lightly. 

The  profits  of  his  last  Benefit  night  supported  the  student  and 
his  child-wife.  Three  rodms  were  rented  in  a  quiet  respectable 
portion  of  the  city ;  and  there  Gabrielle's  busy  loving  fingers 
burnished  and  brightened  everything,  making  a  pleasant  home. 
It  was  very  beautiful  —  the  love  which  enriched  her  young  life 
—  and  for  a  season  held  the  ravages  of  disease  in  thrall,  giving 
her  strength  to  flit  about  her  household  tasks.  Since  the  night 
of  her  marriage,  her  feet  had  never  trod  the  boards  of  a  theatre. 
It  was  enough  to  preside  over  the  home  whither  Jasper  had 
brought  her  —  to  bear  his  name  —  to  arrange  his  books  —  to 
draw  the  curtain-folds  over  the  windows  at  evening,  place  his 
dressing-gown'  and  slippers  by  the  fireside,  draw  the  dainty  tea- 
table  nearer ;  and  when,  later,  he  lay  on  the  sofa  exhausted  with 

22  (253) 


254  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN 

his  day's  mental  toil,  thread  her  attenuated  fingers  through  his 
hair  or  murmur  low  sweet  songs. 

And  the  boy-husband  —  how  could  he  do  otherwise  than  give 
back  love  for  her  idolatry  ?  Not,  indeed,  such  a  rich  deep  affec- 
tion was  it  as  his  heart ,  had  once  yielded  to  another  —  but  a 
quiet,  tender,  cherishing  love.  And,  seemingly,  it  satisfied 
Gabrielle. 

This  devotion  had  made  her  strong,  I  have  said,  —  and  so  it 
was  for  a  season  ;  but  advancing  spring  brought  a  change.  In- 
creasing lassitude  arrested  her  step,  the  hectic  deepened  on  her 
cheek,  and  a  brighter  splendor  lit  her  eye.  And  yet,  deceived 
by  her  fitful  intervals  of  momentary  strength,  she  walked 
blindly  on. 

"  Jasper,"  she  said  one  night  as  she  sat  beside  him,  "  don't 
you  see  how  well  and  strong  I  am  getting  ?  My  cough  is  almost 
gone,  and  my  cheeks  are  red  as  Provence  roses.  If  it  were  not 
for  this  little  pain  in  my  side,  I  should  be  well  as  ever." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  lifted  one  of  her  thin  diaphanous 
hands  and  followed  its  faint  tracery  of  shrunken  blue  veins, 
brushed  back  her  short  crisp  curls  from  transparent  temples, 
then  drew  her  head  convulsively  to  hte  heart. 

"  My  poor  Gabrielle  !  "  was  all  he  said.  How  could  he  stir 
the  secure  calm  of  her  heart  ?  For  in  that  moment,  like  a  light- 
ning flash  it  had  come  upon  him  —  that,  so  surely  as  the  damask 
blaze  of  Consumption  was  on  her  cheek,  and  its  light  in  her  eye, 
she  was  doomed !  Was  it  a  wild  thrill  which  swept  through  his 
heart  then,  saying,  "  One  day  I  shall  be  free  ?  "  No,  no !  Only 
the  bitterest  sorrow ;  for,  as  he  drew  her  head  closer  and  bent 
his  lips  to  her  moistened  forehead,  hearing  her  whisper  "  Mon 
ami,  I  am  very  happy  now  !  "  only  one  prayer  hovered  on  his 
lips  —  "  Father^  spare  her ! " 


PEACE:- OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.*  255 

And  that  long,  winter  —  how  had  it  passed  to  one  whom  we 
left  with  her  proud  suffering  heart  —  Orah  Rowland  ?  Even  as 
months  —  nay,  years  —  have  passed  for  others  who,  like  her, 
have  suffered,  —  in  struggles,  unceasing  struggles,  not  to  forget, 
but  to  conquer! 

In  after  life,  the  memory  of  that  winter  was  very  grateful  to 
her.  For  she  did  not  sit  down,  idly  moaning  and  hugging  her 
disappointment  to  her  heart  —  but,  by  vigorous,  healthy  action, 
strove  to  dispel  it. 

"  God  has  given  me  wealth,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  and  there 
are  hundreds  in  the  shadow  of  my  father's  mansion,  unhappy, 
poor,  and  suffering ! "  —  and  so  she  carried  forth  consolation. 

Into  the  crowded,  stifling  dens  of  the  great  city  she  found  her 
way,  banishing  Want  and  hollow-eyed  Hunger  —  laying  her 
white  hands  on  the  brow  of  the  suffering,  and  putting  the  cooling 
draught  to  fever-stricken  lips  —  leading  innocent  little  children 
from  the  homes  of  the  wretched  poor  —  pointing  repentant 
Magdalens  to  One  who  said  of  such,  "  Neither  do  I  condemn 
thee  !  Go  and  sin  no  more  !  " 

There  .was  little  excitement  about  the  life  she  led  then,  but 
toil  —  incessant  toil.  She  allowed  herself  no  time  for  weaken- 
ing reveries  or  fashionable  complaint  of  ennui  or  blues.  • 

The  world  of  Fashion  looked  on  in  wonder.  Some  sneeringty 
voted  Miss  Rowland  as  "  turning  Methodist,"  —  but,  walking 
her  own  path,  she  gave  no  heed  to  wonder  or  sneer. 

"  Verily,  I  believe  the  girl  is  bewitched !  Why,  if  she  had  not 
a  cent  in  the  world,  she  could  not  toil  harder  —  what  with  her 
charity  schools,  and  making  Up  garments  for  beggars,  and  her 
thousand  and  one  ways  of  employing  herself — I  expect  every 
day  to  find  my  library  converted  into  a  hospital  ward  or  nur- 
sery, and  little  foundling  orphans  playing  hide  and  seek  among 
my  largest  editions  of  Blackstone,  or  pelting  one  another  in  their 


25G  .  PEACE:   OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

games  with  my  briefs.  Louis,  we  must  get  her  a  husband  who'll 
reclaim  her  from  this  erratic  life ! "  and  old  Judge  Rowland 
rubbed  his  hands  in  high  glee,  nodding  playfully  toward  Orah 
one  day  at  dinner.  But  Louis  only  smiled  quietly. 

And  so  it  was  a  twofold  life  that  she  led  —  her  physical  na- 
ture demanding  incessant  action  as  the  outlet  of  strong  feelings, 
and  her  heart  gradually  working  out  its  own  cure ;  and  thus  she 
wrought  on,  and  the  impulsive,  original  elements  of  her  charac- 
ter settled  back  into  quiet,  the  waves  closed  over  the  spot  where 
her  barque  of  love  had  gone  down,  and  out  of  her  great  struggle 
came  peace  for  Orah  Howland. 

To  the  gambler  merchant  in  the  days  at  his  counting-room,  or 
the  nights  in  his  secluded  haunts,  that  winter  had  been  a  level 
lapse  of  time,  stirred  only  by  some  occasional  depression  of  fear 
when  he  lost,  or  some  swell  of  exultation  when  the  turn  of  For- 
tune's wheel  brought  him  the  golden  winnings  that  served  to 
hold  him  above  ruin. 

And,  to  the  poor  inmate  of  the  mad-house,  how  had,  those 
months  fled?  Alas,  despite  the  hopes  of  physicians,  no  gleam 
of  returning  Reason  had  yet  lighted  the  deep  midnight  of  her 
brain !  Not  an  emotion  stirred  the  stagnant,  passionless  calm 
of  her  existence.  Neither  Hope,  Fear,  Love  or  Hate,  went 
groping  through  her  mind's  thick  'darkness.  Life  was  a  dull, 
dead  blank  to  Julie  Revere. 

But  to  other  characters  connected  with  our  tale,  time  had  not 
elapsed  unimproved.  Florence  Delano  had  been  busy  at  the 
task  she  had  set  herself —  bringing  every  energy  of  her  mind  to 
bear  on  the  one  purpose  of  winning  Lucien  Palfrey.  No  arti- 
fice was  unused.  She  denied  herself  balls,  parties,  and  gayeties 
for  which  she  pined  —  fondled  the  little  Cora  —  wore  the  colors 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        257 

he  loved  best,  read  the  books  he  preferred,  and  sung  his  favorite 
songs  —  yielded  her  opinions  to  his  deferentially  and  sweetly  — 
and  when  they  went  abroad  occasionally  to  Concert  or  Opefia, 
leaned  confidingly  upon  his  arm,  called  him  "  Cousin  Lucien  " 
in  the  most  musical  of  voices  —  in  short,  strove  unceasingly  to 
fascinate  him  into  becoming  what,  as  yet,  he  was  not,  though 
half  the  circle  in  which  they  moved  had  long  ago  voted  him  as 
such  —  her  affiancee. 

And  so  the  delighted  Mrs.  Delano  came  to  regard  the  thing 
as  settled  ;-and  "when  you  are  Lucien's  wife"  was  uttered  often 
at  her  daughter's  toilet,  and  duly  reported  by  the  abigail ;  and 
chambermaid,  cook,  and  porter,  talked  it  over  in  the  kitchen, 
until,  lastly,  it  reached  the  ears  of  old  nurse  Allen. 

"  Only  to  think  of  such  a  thing ! "  exclaimed  the  old  lady, 
walking  into  the  school-room  one  evening  and  sitting  down  be- 
side Peace,  for  whom,  latterly,  she  had  conceived  a  strong  liking 
—  "  Only  to  think  of  it,  Miss  Peace  ! "  and  her  very  cap  strings 
quivered  with  indignation,"  here's  Mr.  Lucien  —  him  that  I 
rocked  to  sleep  when  he  was  a  little  baby  in  my  arms  —  agoin' 
to  up  and  marry  that  proud,  flirtin'  Miss  Florence  !  And  she's 
been  playin'  saint  and  angel  all  winter,  a  purpose  to  get  him  — 
a  wheedlin'  and  fondlin'  round  little  Cora  enough*  to  make  a 
body  sick,  and  stayin'  at  home  from  all  the  parties  to  read  to 
him  and  sich  like,  jest  to  blind  his  eyes,  because  she  knows  h& 
don't  like  gadabout  women.  Dear  knows  he  suffered  enough 
with  Miss  Jenny,  without  gettui'  another  just  like  her,  only 
wuss  ;  —  though  I  do  suppose  he  loved  -her  —  at  any  rate,  he 
took  on  terribly  when  she  died." 

"  Was  little  Cora's  mother  very  young,  and  did  she  die  sud- 
denly ? "  asked  Peace  with  interest.  , 

"  La,  child  —  don't  you  know  ?  But  of  course  you  don't, 
though,  'cause  Mr.  Lucien  never  wanted  the  thing  talked  about 

22* 


258  PEACE:   OR 'THE  STOLEN  \VJLL. 

much,  and  Mis.  Delano  ain't  the  woman  that  would  be  likely  to 
speak  of  it.  You  see,  dear  — "  and  she  drew  her  chair  closer 
a«d  laid  her  wrinkled  hand  on  the  young  girl's.  — "  It's  my 
'pinion  that  Mr.  Lucien  never  took  much  comfort  with  his  wife. 
I  always  said  these  sudden  love-matches  never  turned  out  well ; 
and  he  fell  in  love  with  Miss  Jenny  at  first  sight  —  she  was 
visitin'  at  old  General  Richmond's  at  Springdale  —  and  before  a 
month,  they  were  married.  Well,  the  new  wife  was  handsome 
as  a  picter,  with  eyes  and  hair  black  as  a  sloe,  but  she  had  a 
dreadful  temper,  as  Mr.  Lucien  soon  found  out.  After  a  while, 
she  wouldn't  stay  out  there  at  the  old  Hall,  though  he'd  had  lots 
of  workmen  there,  a  paintin'  and  alterin',  and  bought  new  fur- 
niture, and  fixed  it  up  nice  enough  for  a  queen  —  but  nothin' 
would  do  but  she  must  have  her  house  in  town  ;  and  so  Mr.  Lu- 
cien had  to  give  in,  and  leave  all  his  patients  and  poor  people,  — 
and  we  all  —  he  and  Miss  Jenny,  baby  and  I,  and  lots  of  servants 
—  came  here  to  York,  to  the  nicest  house  love  and  money  would 
buy.  Then  there  were  high  doings — lots  of  parties,  and  theatre- 
goings,  and  gay  times  —  and  Miss  Jenny  had  it  all  her  own  way, 
sometimes  draggin'  her  husband  round  after  her,  but  oftener 
goin'  with  gay  women  like  herself.  One  night,  when  Cora  was 
most  a  year  old,  she  wanted  to  go  to  hear  a  great  Italian  singer, 
or  somethin',  at  the  theatre,  but  Mr.  Lucien  had  jest  got  back 
from  buryin'  an  uncle  he  loved  like  an  own  father,  and  didn't 
think  it  jest  right  to  go ;  but  Miss  Jenny,  she'd  had  an  invitation 
from  some  gay  man  or  dther,  and  set  up  her  high  temper,  —  and 
go  she  would.  I  s'pose  they'd  had  high  words  —  for  Mr.  Lucien 
shut  himself  up  in  his  library  —  and  when  the  carriage  drove  up, 
she  jest  went  off  without  him,  all  dressed  in  her  satins  and  jew- 
els. I  remember,  she  come  into  the  nursery  where  I  was  rock- 
in'  little  Cora,  and  said  with  a  gay  laugh,  standin'  before  the 
mirror,  'Well,  Aunty  Alien;  don't  I  look  well  to-night?'  I 


PEACE  :  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  259 

s'pose  I  was  wicked  then  —  but  I  couldn't  help  wishin',  when  I 
heard  her  laughm'  and  talkin'  so  happy  like  to  the  gentleman 
that  helped  her  into  the  carriage  —  I  couldn't  help  wishin'  that 
Mr.  Lucien  had  never  laid  eyes  on  her.  But,  poor  creetur ! 
when  I  saw  her  next,  I  was  sorry  enough  for  my  harsh  thoughts. 
When,  a  few  hours  later,  they  brought  her  home  —  Oh,  that  was 
dreadful !  "  —  and  the  old  lady  shuddered. 

"  What  was  it  ?     Was  she  dead  ?  "  asked  Peace,  quite  pale. 

"  No,  dear,  but  the  same  as  dead  —  dyin'"  replied  the  old 
nurse  in  lower  tones.  "  You  see,  somehow,  there  was  a  great 
fire  broke  out  in  the  theatre,  and  everybody  pushed  for  the 
doors,  great  strong  men  never  carin'  who  got  knocked  down 
and  trampled  on  ;  and  though  they  said  the  gentleman  she  was* 
with  tried  his  best  to  save  Miss  Jenny  and  hold  her  back, 
she  jest  got  pushed  amongst  the  thickest  —  and  they  brought 
her  home  almost  killed,  white  as  death,  and  all  scarred  and 
bruised  —  " 

"  Dreadful ! "  shuddered  Peace,  covering  her  eyes  with  her 
hand  to  shut  out  the  terrible  vision  the  old  lady's  recital  had 
conjured  up. 

"  Yes,  dear,  so  it  was  !  It  seemed  as  if  Mr.  Lucien  would  go 
crazy  —  the  whole  house  was  raised,  but  he  wouldn't  let  any- 
body in  her  room  except  the  doctor  and  me  ;  and  all  the  three 
days  she  lived,  he  shut  himself  up  there,  neither  eatin'  or 
sleepin',  and  kept  sayin'  over  as  he  laid  his  head  on  her  pillow, 
'  It  is  a  judgment !  It  is  a  judgment ! '  I  s'pose  he  meant  some- 
thin'  about  their  quarrel,  for  Miss  Jenny  would  answer,  'No, 
no  !  don't  think  so,  Lucien.  I  brought  it  upon  myself.  I  was 
sorry  I  went,  before  I'd  been  there  ten  minutes  ! '  Well,  dear, 
the  last  thing  she  ever  said,  ajfter .  kissing  her  baby  and  husband, 
was  to  beg  his  forgiveness ;  and  so,  meek  and  humble  like,  with 
her  head  in  his  arms,  she  died.  And  then,  after  the  funeral  —  they 


260  PEACE  :    OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

had  carried  her  out  to  Springdale  to  bury  her  —  he  shut  him- 
self up  for  weeks  in  his  library ;  till,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  sent  off 
everybody  but  the  housekeeper  and  her  husband,  shut  up  the 
old  Hall  except  their  rooms,  sold  his  house  in  town,  sent  little 
Cora  and  me  to  Miss  Jenny's  sister,  Mis.  Livingston,  where  we 
staid  till  she  shut  up  her  house  to  go  South  last  fall,  when  we 
come  here  —  and,  after  bidding  us  all  good  bye,  went  off  to 
furrin  parts.  Dear  knows,  that  when  he  come  back  from  his 
long  journey,  nobody  was  gladder  to  see  him  than  I  —  and 
nobody'd  rejoice  more  to  see  him  married  again  to  some  good, 
smart,  amiable  girl,  who'd  make  him  jest  such  a  wife  as  he's 
worthy  of  and  ought  to  have  ;  but  it's  too  much,  to  think  he's  so 
blinded  as  to  fall  into  that  artful  Miss  Florence's  trap  !  "  —  and 
her  trembling  hand  tightened  over  Peace's. 

"  What  kind  of  a  wife'll  she  make  him,  I  want  to  know  ?  — 
that  cold-hearted,  proud  Miss,  with  her  fine  dresses,  and  rings 
and  fans,  and  pink  cheeks  and  doll-baby  face  !  What  kind  of  a 
mother-in-law  to  little  Cora  ?  —  a  lollin'  in  her  arm-chairs  all  the 
mornin'  over  her  novels,  or  waltzing  and  poking  at  balls  and 
parties,  or  showing  herself  off  at  the  theatre  !  —  for  she's  jest 
one  of  that  sort,  and  Mr.  Lucien'll  find  his  eyes  opened  purty 
sudden  after  the  knot's  tied.  I'd  a  good  deal  rather  he'd  staid 
in  furrin  parts  till  he's  gray,  than  come  home  to  marry  her  — 
that  I  would  !  Poor  Cora !  —  precious  little  she  shall  have  to 
do  with  my  darling,  while  old  Nurse  Allen  lives  —  that's  all !  " 
—  and  the  indignant  old  lady  rose  and  went  out  into  the 
nursery  to  watch  the  peaceful  slumbers  of  her  beloved  charge. 

"  And  this  is  the  end  of  it  all !  —  to  come  here  evening  after 
evening  —  declaim  against  fashion  and  frivolity,  talk  earnestly 
about  domestic  peace,  sing  songs  and  read  poems  in  his  beautiful 
voice,  reveal  the  depths  of  his  strong  rich  heart,  and  then  go 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        261 

away  and  take  to  his  heart  such  a  woman  as  Florence  Delano ! 
It  is  the  way  with  them  all !  Talk  as  they  may  about  quiet 
homes,  and  congenial  hearts,  and  an  •  appreciation  of  domestic 
happiness,  they  straightway  forget  it  all,  and  pay  their  court  to 
beauty,  position,  wealth  !  '  Oh,  Frailty,  thy  name  is  —  man  !  ' "  — 
and  with  a  quick  scornful  gesture,  Peace  went  to  the  window, 
and,  flinging  up  the  sash,  leaned  out  into  the  night. 

Gradually  a  softer  expression  overspread  her  features ;  and 
sinking  wearily  down  into  a  chair,  she  leaned  her  head  upon  the 
window-sill. 

"  Why  should  I  care  ?  —  what  is  he  to  me  ?  "  she  murmured 
huskily.  "  I  will  not  wrong  him  —  he  is  good  and  noble  —  and 
he  cannot  help  it,  if  he  loves  her.  It  was  kindness  only  —  pity 
for  my  loneliness  —  that  sent  him  here.  He  never  bestowed  a 
thought  upon  me,  save  of  friendship.  It  is  hard !  hard !  But  I 
could  bear  it,  did  I  know  she  returned  a  tithe  of  the  tenderness 
he  must  lavish  on  the  woman  he  again  calls  wife  !  But  it  can- 
not be,  that  she  will  go  to  his  arms  with  a  falsehood  on  her  lips ! 
It  cannot  be,  that,  sitting  by  his  side,  listening  to  his  voice,  she 
•will  not  grow  better,  nobler !  Oh,  Father,  grant  that !  Make 
her  worthy  of  him  —  and  give  me  strength  !  " 

Long  after,  while  the  sighing  winds  of  a  May  night  dashed 
up  the  leafy  spray  of  an  acacia  tree  wet  with  dew  against  her 
bowed  forehead,  and  the  holy  stars  leaned  down  from  heaven 
with  tender  pitying  eyes,  Peace  Wedgewood  stood  beside  that 
window  with  pale  and  tear-stained  face,  resolutely  looking  into 
her  darkened  future  with  holy  trust.  For  she  had  cast  her  bur- 
den on  the  Comforter.  The  faith  learned  beside  Uncle  Reu- 
ben's knee  and  at  Aunt  Patience's  death-bed  did  not  fail  her 
then! 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

Why  did  she  love  him  ?     Curious  fool !  —  be  still  — 
Is  human  love  the  growth  of  human  will  ? 
To  her  he  might  be  gentleness.  _  * 

BYRON'S  LARA. 

A  LITTLE  quaint,  vine-embowered  cottage,  nestling  in  a  hill- 
side hollow  under  the  shadow  of  overhanging  cliffs,  like  a  nest 
beneath  the  eaves ! 

It  must  have  been  an  artist's  eye  that  selected"  that  nook  for  a 
home  —  where  all  the  long  summer  day  the  heaviest  shadows 
hung  and  the  most  exquisite  bits  of  blue  broke  through  the 
rifted  clouds  —  where  the  plumy  pines  and  dusky  firs  tossed  up 
their  arms,  and  the  mountain  ash  and  silver  larch  whispered 
together  —  where  sparkling  brooks  broke  in  a  thousand  shivering 
diamonds  over  the  rocks,  then,  gathering  into  their  quieter  beds, 
leaped  gladly  down  the  hillsides,  wound  through  the  valley 
below  among  low  grassy  meadows,  until  they  poured  their  sil- 
•  very  tribute  into  the  bosom  of  the  blue  Hudson. 

And  it  was  an  artist's  hand,  too,  beautifying  everything  with 
its  touch,  that  trained  the  vines  about  the  casement  and  the  twin- 
ing Indian  Creeper  about  the  western  Gothic  window,  laid  out 
the  tiny  flower-bed  in  a  small  plateau  before  the  cottage,  or 
adorned  the  interior  of  that  quiet  retreat  —  disposed  the  snowy 
lace-curtains  over  the  windows,  hung  the  pictures  on  the  walls, 
and  heaped  brightest  flowers  into  the  delicate  porcelain  vases. 

Leafy  Earle,  whose  days  were  spent  alone  with  her  beautiful 
Art  —  in  sketching  the  light  and  shade  where  they  blended  in 
some  deep  ravine  among  the  hills,  some  bright  bit  of  waterfall, 

(262) 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        263 

or  tiny  lake  set  in  its  frame  of  dark  evergreen  and  mirroring 
the  cloud-rifted  sky,  or  the  white-winged  shallops  lying  motion- 
less for  hours  on  the  distant  blue  river  —  whose  evenings  fled 
like  dreams,  sitting  beside  one  who  listened  to  her  songs  while 
her  white  fingers  swept  the  strings  of  her  guitar,  and  the  moon- 
light, sifting  down  through  the  larches  at  the  cottage  door,  soft- 
ened into  beauty  every  feature  of  the  dark  face  that  bent  above 
her  —  sweet  Leafy  Earle,  what  good  angel  guided  thee  to  such 
a  fairy  home  ? 

Ala?,  not  so !  for,  in  the  tall  dark  man  who  every  twilight 
guided  his  horse  up  the  mountain  path,  and,  tethering  him  to  the 
young  saplings  at  the  little  wicket-gate,-  sat  evening  after  evening 
at  her  side  watching  the  play  of  the  artist-girl's  speaking  fea- 
tures with  a  devouring,  passionate  gaze  —  in  that  .  man,  we 
recognize  one  who,  wherever  his  footsteps  had  hitherto  trod,  had 
left  but  blight  and  desolation. 

Strange  that  the  tender  vine  should  weave  its  drapery  about 
the  rough,  blackened,  distorted  tree  —  that  beautiful  flowers 
should  unfold  their  petals  on  the  crater's  brink,  where,  beneath, 
the  volcano's  heart  lies  bound  in  its  nightmare  sleep  —  that 
whitest  lilies  yield  their  fragrance  amid  bogs  and  marshes  where 
stagnates  foulest  uncleanness  ! 

But  so  it  has  been  ever  —  and  so  with  human  hearts. 

Who  can  explain  that  strange  magnetism  which  often  attracts 
those  whose  characters,  dispositions,  pursuits,  loves,  hopes  and 
joys,  are  antipodean,  into  that  conjunction  which  merges  both 
hearts  into  one  ?  —  which  brings  lovely  women,  with  aspirations 
after  the  good  and  pure  and  beautiful,  to  immolate  their  rich 
natures  on  an  altar  whose  presiding  priest  is  but  little  removed 
from  the  demons  that  sit  in  the  shadow  of  darkness  ? 

High,  moral  natures  do  not  yield  easily.  She  who  acknowl- 
edges the  law  of  her  Maker  as  the  standard  whereby  to  regulate 


264        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  . 

her  passions,  struggles  long,  and,  though  the  battle  go  hard, 
conquers  —  casting  out  this  blind  idol-worship ;  but  yielding, 
trusting  little  Leafy  Earle  —  though  her  every  thought  was  an 
inspiration  of  purity  —  alas !  the  weak,  clinging  girl  had  no  talis- 
man beyond  her  own  pure  heart-impulses,  to  guard  and  keep 
her  from  evil. 

What  wonder,  then,  that,  when  the  kind  friend  who  had  so 
generously  purchased  her  paintings  in  the  picture-gallery  sought 
her  soon  under  the  pretext  of  ordering  others  —  when  he  kindly 
took  away  the  rapid  creations  of  her  brush  and  pencil,  and 
brought  her  their  proceeds  which  purchased  her  invalid  mother 
many  luxuries  —  what  wonder  that,  from  gratitude  sprang  re- 
gard, and  from  regard  love,  and  from  love  the  intensest  adora- 
tion ? 

And  when  the  fond  widowed  mother  saw  how  this  new  feeling 
was  swaying  her  child's  life,  lending  her  power  and  vigor  to 
excel  in  her  Art,  causing  her  hand  to  work  rapidly  with  brush 
and  crayon  —  her  lips  overflowing  with  heart-songs,  and  her 
hazel  eyes  growing  dreamier  and  tenderer,  because  of  the  great 
joy  flooding  her  whole  being  —  why  should  she  bid  her  put  this 
new  happiness  beyond  her  grasp  ? 

Besides,  Mrs.  Earle  had  never  known  much  of  the  great 
world  —  its  wickedness  or  its  sin.  She,  whose  tide  of  life  had 
always  flown  peacefully  in  its  calm  channel,,  could  know  nothing 
of  tho^e  wild  outer  seas  whose  waves  dash  high,  bearing  on  their 
turbid  bosoms  pale  broken  flowers  —  ruined  hopes,  desolated 
hearts,  lost  souls,  —  or  of  that  seething,  foaming,  boiling  Mael- 
strom —  Passion  —  wherein  white-winged  pleasure-barques,  cir- 
cling nearer  and  nearer  on  the  dancing  waters,  are  engulfed 
forever ! 

Such  tales  of  shipwrecked  lives,  of  course  had  sometimes  been 
repeated  to  her  ;  Leafy  had  heard  such,  and  shuddered  ;  but  no 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        265 

poor  Magdalens  had  crossed  the  fair  girl's  path  —  and  how  could 
she  become  like  them  ?  Impossible  ! 

One  day  in  April,  when  the  sun  stood  warm  and  bright  above 
the  great  city,  and  already  the  artist-girl  longed  for  the  birds  and 
flowers  in  Nature's  quiet  domains,  Hugh  Golding  entered  her 
little  studio. 

"  My  child,"  he  said  with  a  fascinating  smile,  "  yesterday, 
rambling  among  some  rugged  bills  that  form  a  lower  chain  of 
the  Highlands,  I  came  across  a  charming  untenanted  cottage 
half-hidden  among  trees.  '  It  is  the  very  spot  for  my  artist-girl's 
home  ! '  I  involuntarily  said.  There  are  light  and  shade,  birds 
and  flowers,  and  a  Gothic  window  facing  the  west  where  you 
can  sit  at  your  easel  and  watch  the  sun  go  down.  What  says  my 
pet  ?  Her  mother  shall  be  queen  of  housewives  in  that  charm- 
ing nook,  getting  well  and  strong  in  the  invigorating  mountain 
air,  and  I  will  go  there  often  and  bring  her  pictures  into  town 
for  sale,  and  she  shall  lead  a  happy,  careless  life.  Leafy,  will 
you  go  to  this  hill-fide  home,  for  the  summer  ?  " 

The  girl  blushed.  The  thought  .of  receiving  a  home  at  his 
hands,  though  she  felt  sure  of  his  love,  was  instinctively  revolting 
to  her  delicacy. 

"  Oh  Mr.  Golding,  I  thank  you  —  but,  indeed,  I  ought  not  to 
go  there  !  "  she  replied  hesitatingly. 

"  Ought  not  ?  Leafy,  dear  Leafy,  you  refuse  me,  then !  I 
had  hoped  that  one  day  the  right  to  protect  you  would  have 
been  mine,  but  now  —  "  and  he  turned  away,  apparently  with 
wounded  feelings. 

It  was  enough.  "  The  right  to  protect  her  "  —  did  not  that 
mean  to  become  his  wife  ?  And  now  she  had  grieved  him  —  her 
best  friend !  It  was  very  ungrateful  of  her !  And  going  up 
close  to  his  side,  she  placed  her  little  white  hand  in  his,  and 

said, 

28 


266  PEACE  :     OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

"  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Golding  !  " 

'  "And  you  will  go  to  this  highland  cottage  ?  "  he  asked,  bend- 
ing down  till  his  dark  flashing  eyes  had  called  up  waves  of  crim- 
son to  her  transparent  cheek. 

"  Yes,  yes  —  my  mother  and  I !  "  she  murmured,  shrinking 
away  from  the  arm  that  would  have  encircled  her. 

Ah !  the  raven  was  poising  his  wings  for  his  devouring  swoop. 
Heaven  save  thee,  innocent  dove  ! 

It  was  a  June  night,  and  intensely  warm  even  on  those 
breezy  upland  heights  whither  Leafy  Earle  had  made  her 
home. 

The  moon  was  near  its  full,  and  stood  high  and  fair  above  the 
hills.  Every  cliff  and  tree  was  lighted  up  with  wonderful 
fidelity,  casting  long  shadows  down  the  slope ;  stretching  away 
to  the  northeast,  a  black  pine  forest  lay  sombre  and  heavy  against 
the  evening  sky ;  southward  and  westward  flowed  the  Hudson, 
describing  a  sudden  bend  at  the  foot  of  the  hill ;  while  noisy 
little  brooklets  leaping  down  their  rocky  heights  and  winding 
through  the  valley  glittered  like  so  many  threads  of  steel  bind- 
ing the  landscape. 

"  The  Nest,"  as  Leafy  had  poetically  and  appropriately  termed 
the  cottage,  stood  in  a  little  hollow  on  the  southern  hill-slope. 

The  cottage  itself  was  of  stone,  old,  and  quaint,  and  falling 
into  decay,  but  so  sheltered  that  storms  and  winds  had  passed  it 
lightly;  within,  the  tasteful,  even  elegant  articles  of  furniture 
which  Golding  had  caused  to  be  conveyed  there,  gave  it  a  pleas- 
ant, cheery  look  —  and  without,  the  luxuriant  vines  so  draped 
the  casements  and  faded  gray  walls  that  the  ravages  of  tune 
were  scarcely  perceptible. 

Under  the  southern  and  western  windows  where  the  sun  lay 
nearly  all  day  white  roses  bloomed  in  the  greatest  profusion,  arid 


PEACE  :    OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  267 

the  glossy-leaved,  scarlet  blooming  Indian  Creeper  grew  thick 
and  luxuriant.  At  a  distance  of  a  few  rods  from  the  western 
Gothic  window  where  Leafy  had  placed  her  easel,  stood  a  tall 
white-wood  tree  flinging  gigantic  shadows  down  the  hiU-slope, 
and  close  by,  on  a  level  spot  of  grassy  ground,  bloomed  a  thicket 
of  wild  red  roses.  Beneath  this  stately  white-wood  tree  was  a 
rude  stone  seat,  where  often  at  sunset  Leafy  Earle  came  to 
sketch  cloud  or  shadow,  valley  or  river ;  and  here,  on  that  moon- 
light June  evening,  she  sat  beside  Hugh  Golding. 

Her  head  rested  against  the  polished  trunk  of  the  tree ;  and 
the  moonlight,  sifting  down  through  its  boughs,  bathed  her  whole 
person  in  a  flood  of  quivering  light  and  shade. 

And,  as  yet,  the  heart  beating  beside  Hugh  Golding's  was 
pure  as  the  sleeping  moonlight.  Her  childlike,  trusting  inno- 
cence had  been  her  shield ;  and  even  that  bold  bad  man  hesi- 
tated for -means  whereby  to  undermine  it. 

Of  neither  love  or  marriage  had  he  ever  spoken  since  the  day 
when  she  consented  to  seek  this  secluded  home.  Leafy  asked 
no  vow.  "  By  and  by,"  she  whispered  to  her  heart,  "  he  will 
ask  me  to  become  his  child-wjfe.  Meantime,  he  is  good  and 
tender,  and  loves  me.  I  am  content  to  bide  my  time." 

Oh  rare  faith,  which  builds  a  fair  structure  on  the  foundation 
of  a  word,  a  smile,  a  kiss  !  —  oh  rich  heart,  that  loves  because  it 
is  a  necessity  of  its  very  being !  —  oh  beautiful  trust,  which 
sends  out  the  affections,  placing  them  beyond  future  recall  in  the 
keeping  of  another ! 

So  it  has  been  ever  —  so  will  it  be,  on  through  time  —  that 
woman's  heart  is  sent  forth,  like  the  weary,  storm-bound  dove, 
to  bring  back  some  green  olive-leaf  from  the  surging  waters  of 
Life. 

"  Leafy,  darling  ! " 

The  young  girl  started  from  her  resting-place,  and  all  the 


268        PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

blood  of  her  heart  seemed  to  rush  in  crimson  waves  over  her 
face. 

"  You  are  as  silent  as  the  canary  in  yonder  cage,"  said  Gold- 
ing,"  pointing  to  the  little  porch.  "  Does  my  pet  bird  rebel  at 
the  solitude  of  her  Nest?  Is  the  loneliness  of  this  mountain 
region  irksome  to  you,  my  child  ?  "  —  and  he  smoothed  out  her 
floating  hair  with  a  caressing  touch. 

"Irksome!  Oh,  no  indeed  —  anything  but  that!"  washer 
enthusiastic  reply. 

"  I  have  no  lonely  hours  here.  It  was  in  the  great  busy  city, 
among  the  thousands  who  care  only  for  greed  and  gain  —  it  was 
there,  I  was  alone  !  But  here  —  where  the  birds  sing  and  the 
flowers  grow  —  where  the  brooks  laugh  all  day  and  whisper  all 
night  —  where  the  sun  goes  down  his  pathway  of  gold  and  fire, 
and  the  moon  sails  her  white  boat  through  a  sea  of  blue  — 
where  I  hear  the  mighty  anthems  of  the  pine  woods,  and  the 
sweet  call  of  the  west  wind  —  Oh,  how  could  I  be  lonely  here  ! 
I  could  never  feel  alone  with  dear  mother  Nature  !  Mr.  Gold- 
ing," —  and  her  dreamy  eyes  kindled  like  stars,  —  "I  don't 
think  I  could  ever  make  another  picture  in  the  city.  I  might 
copy  —  but  I  could  never  create.  I  wonder  how  artists  work 
there !  It  always  cramped  —  stifled  me  !  —  and  I  know  the  rea- 
son now ;  I  never  half  lived  there  !  Blue  skies  and  sunshine, 
rock  and  water,  birds  and  flowers,  are  necessary  to  the  artist's 
perfect .  life.  I  cannot  help  working  here,  with  the  light  and 
shade  playing  over  these  hills,  and  the  clouds  for  my  neighbors 
—  so  far  from  the  eager,  busy  world  —  so  near  heaven  !  Oh,  I 
tliank  you  for  bringing  me  here ! "  —  and  she  drew  in  her  breath 
with  a  sudden  inspiration. 

"Enthusiast!"  —  and  Golding  imprisoned  her  hands ;  then 
he  said  in  a  low  clear  voice,  "  But,  my  pet,  is  it  wholly  this 
keen  enjoyment  of  Nature's  beautiful  things,  I  wonder,  that 


PEACE  :  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  269 

makes  your* heart  thrill  with  such  fulness  of  life?"  —  and  he 
drew  her  face  forward  into  the  full  moonlight. 

Leafy  blushed.  But  half-comprehending  him  at  first,  she  did 
not  reply  ;  then  in  an  instant  it  flashed  over  her. 

When  did  woman  ever-  fill  her  heart  with  the  love  of  birds 
and  flowers,  and  Nature's  inanimate  things,  or  even  that  noble 
Art  whose  beauties  dowered  that  young  girl's  life  —  and  rest 
content  ?  Nor  did  Leafy  Earle. 

"Leafy,"  —  and  she  was  drawn  close  to  a  beating  heart — 
u  there  is  another  love,  than  that  of  Nature  or  your  Art,  which 
harf  crept  into  your  heart !  —  and  to-night  will  you  not  con- 
fess it  ?  Leafy,  darling,  tell  me  that  you  love  me  ?  " 

The  girl  trembled,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  She 
could  not  speak  for  the  great  happiness  at  its  spring-tide  in  her 
heart ;  she  could  not  lift  her  eyes. 

"  Leafy  —  little  one ! "  —  and  his  voice  softened  to  that  inde- 
scribably fascinating  tone  he  knew  so  well  how  to  assume  — 
"  then,  since  you  will  not  answer  me,  may  I  not  regard  as  a 
faithful  transcript  of  your  feelings  these  "  Dreamings,"  which  a 
blessed  chance  wind  blew  to  my  hand  to-night  from  your  studio 
table  ?  "  — _and  leaning  forward  into  the  full  moonlight,  he  read 
from  a  delicately  perfumed  sheet  a  tender  heart-poem :  — 

All  the  morning  melts  away, 
«  Gliding  onward  into  noon,  — 

Trembling,  dies  the  fainting  day, 
Still  I  dream  the  hours  away 
Underneath  the  skies  of  June. 

\  . 

Pencil,  easel,  lie  forgot ! 

All  uncaught,  stray  visions  wild 
Idly  flit  my  brain  athwart ; 
I  am  wrapped  in  happier  thought  — 

I  am  dreaming  like  a  child  ! 
23* 


270        PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

What,  to  me,  the  voice  of  Fame  ? 

I  have  won  a  dearer  boon ! 
Tender  lips  speak  o'er  my  name  — 
Tender  eyes  burn  brighter  flame  — 

Love  hath  waked  my  heart  £o  bloom ! 

Care  I  not  for  others'  praise  ! 

Care  I  not  for  others'  sighs  ! 
I  am  well  content  to  gaze  — 
Seeking  only  for  my  praise 

In  the  clear  wells  of  his  eyes. 

So  the  mornings  melt  away, 

Gliding  onward  into  noon : 
So  still  dieth  day  by  day, 
While  I  dream  the  hours  away 

Underneath  the  skies  of  June. 

With  a  sudden  gush  of  tears,  when  Golding  turned  from  the 
written  sheet  with  eager  eyes,  Leafy  Earle  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

Or  perchance  the  continual  dropping  of  the  venomed  words  of  spite, 
Insult  and  injury  and  scorn,  have  galled  and  pierced  his  heart. 

PROVERBIAL  PHILOSOPHY. 

IT  was  a  bright  June  sunset  at  the  Ridge  Farm.  The  pop- 
lars in  front  of  the  old  house  were  all  ablaze  —  their  long  arms 
casting  flickering  shadows  athwart  the  brown,  weather-beaten 
roof —  and  the  slanting  sunbeam  flinging  a  shower  of  reddened 
light  against  the  little-paned  windows. 

Fields  of  wheat  and  rye  waved  in  the  soft  west  wind ;  the 
glossy  green  maize  had  thrust  its  stalks  upward  through  the 
rocky  soil ;  tall  grass  surged  to  and  fro  in  billowy  richness ;  and 
patches  of  red  and  white  clover  grew  rank  and  thick  in  the 
fields. 

Along  the  road  leading  down  to  Red  Brook,  two  rows  of  old 
gnarled  willows,  with  drooping,  melancholy  looking  foliage, 
guarded  the  way,  like  sad-hearted,  weary  old  men ;  on  the  up- 
lands surrounding  the  village,  groves  of  beech  and  maple  were 
luxuriant  in  their  glossy  greenery  ;  and  on  Wood  Hill,  the  dark 
pines  and  firs  kept  guard  over  the  little  graveyard  where  quiet 
sleepers  rested. 

The  old  farm-house  at-the  Ridge  was  little  changed  since  it 
had  passed  into  the  hands  of  Hannah  Ward.  The  old  well- 
sweep  still  swung  aloft  its  long  arm  with  the  wooden  bucket 
dangling  from  the  end  —  tufts  of  white  clover,  mustard,  and 
plantain-leaves,  grew  thick  about  the  well-curb,  almost  over- 
topping the  long  watering-trough  sunken  in  the  grass. 

(271) 


272  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    \VILL. 

But  there  seemed  a  change  about  the  premises.  Not  .that 
anything  had  fallen  into  decay ;  on  the  contrary,  the  domains 
looked  neat  and  thrifty,  the  out-buildings  were  well  kept  and 
tidy,  the  crops  well  up,  and  \veeds  a  tabooed  product  of  the  soil. 
But  it  was  that  very  air  of  rigid  thrift,  cultivation,  and  utilita- 
rianism, that  impressed  one  painfully. 

Through  all  Meadow  Brook  it  had  become  a  common  saying, 
"  As  smart  a  manager  as  Hannah  Ward ; "  and  under  her 
"  smart "  economy  not  an  inch  of  arable  land  ran  to  waste. 
Even  the  green  before  the  farm-house  door  had  been  ploughed 
up  and  converted  into  a  vegetable  garden,  and  the  adjoining 
flower-beds  had  fallen  a  prey  to  the  same  Vandalism.  There 
grew  cabbages,  parsnips,  blood  beets,  asparagus,  .climbing  beans, 
and  early  peas,  for  the  market  —  replacing  the  smoothly  kept 
turf  and  flowers  that  had  once  been  Aunt  Patience's  pride  and 
care. 

Old  maids'  pinks  and  'coquettish  jonquils  no  longer  nodded 
defiance,  or  got  up  flirtations  with  jaunty  bachelor's  buttons ; 
delicate  lilies  of  the  valley,  four-o'clocks,  and  mignonette,  no 
longer  bloomed  under  the  valiant  protection  of  royal  prince's 
feather ;  the  morning-glories  had  died  out  along  the  garden- 
wall  ;  and  the  creeping  jenny  with  its  spiral  curling  tendrils, 
and  trumpet  honey-suckle,  had  been  torn  away  from  the  west 
room  windows,  because  the  spinster,  in  whose  hard  gray  eyes 
there  was  no  beauty  in  vines  or  blossoms,  declared,  in  a  jjn<,-ion 
of  neatness  and  thrift,  that  "  they  rotted  the  clapboards  and 
brought  bugs  into  the  house." 

"Within  the  farm-house  prevailed  a  rigid  parsimony,  amount- 
ing to  niggardness,  even.  The  passion  for  Gain  which  had 
prompted  the  avaricious  woman  to  wrong  the  lonely  Peace,  had 
recoiled  upon  herself.  By  the  glitter  of  her  little  gray  eyes,  and 
the  clutch  of  her  horny  hand  as  she  converted  the  products  of  the 


PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN.  WILL.  273 

dairy,  and  yarn  spun  from  lambs'  wool,  into  money,  eagerly  add- 
ing each,  newly-earned  dollar  to  its  fellows  —  by  the  increasing 
scantiness  of  their  daily  board,  and  the  pinched,  shrunken  form 
of  the  bound  boy,  Hannah  Ward  was  fast  becoming  that  most 
miserable,  contemptible  being  on  earth  —  a  miser. 

Poor  Chip  Weed  !  The  veriest  slave  that  ever  handled  a  hoe 
or  guided  the  plough  i»  the  soil  of  the  Granite  State  —  over- 
worked, neglected,  ill-fed  —  his  had  been  a  hard  lot  since  Reu- 
ben died.  Not  a  neighbor  but  said  so. 

"  She  tasks  the  lad  almost  to  death  on  that  great  farm,"  said 
Farmer  Sanders.  "  If  she  only  done  something  that  I  could  get 
hold  of,  I'd  complain  to  the  overseers  of  the  poor  over  to 
Elton  to-morrow  —  but  she's  too  cunning  for  that !  There  was 
Peace,  turned  out  of  house  and  home,  as  a  body  might  say.  In 
my  opinion,  Hannah  Ward  never  treated  her  jest  right;  and 
now  she's  got  the  property,  and  slaves  poor  Chip  beyond  his 
strength." 

This  was  too  true.  Since  Reuben's  death,  the  life  of  the  poor 
witless  bound  boy  had  been  a  constant  series  of  hardships ;  but 
it  was  not  solely  the  unresting  'toil  which  wore  upon  him,  but 
the  absence  of  all  kindliness,  or  care ;  and  the  gruff  orders  and 
rebukes  of  the  exacting  spinster  kept  him  in  a  state  of  nervous 
dread  and  terror.  Starting,  affrighted,  at  his  task-mistress's  shrill 
call  —  going  about  his  toil,  in  scant  tattered  garments,  and  with 
pinched,  elfish  features  —  he  looked  the  picture  of  a  cowed, 
neglected,  half-starved  lad. 

Hannah  Ward  was  a  work-house  surveyor  on  a  small  scale  — 
a  miserly,  grinding  woman,  who  did  not  hesitate  to  stint  the 
hard-working,  hungry  bound  boy,  when  he  sometimes  ventured 
to  put  forth  the  cry  of  Oliver  Twist,  for  "  more  !  " 

A  year  and  a  half  had  gone  by  since  Reuben  Wedgewood's 
death.  Two  long  winters,  tedious  and  dreary  to  Chip,  when 


274        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

after  a  day's  chopping  in  the  woods  he  crouched  down  by  the 
evening  fire-light  in  the  chimney-corner  carding  wool  for  the 
spinning,  or  crept  away  to  his  garret-bed  —  two  springs,  with 
their  ploughing  and  planting  and  hoeing  —  and  now  the  second 
summer  had  come  round. 

At  the  sunset  of  the  day  when  our  chapter  commences,  the 
lad  had  stretched  his  tall  gaunt  form  u^der  the  stone-wall  by  the 
roadside,  glad  to  steal  a  little  rest  after  a  hard  day's  hoeing  in 
the  corn-field.  The  milking  was  over  —  the  last  foaming  pail 
carried  up  to  the  house  —  and  the  cows  stood  lazily  chewing 
their  cuds  in  the  -barn-yard.  , 

An  old  gray  cat,  tempted  doubtless  by  the  twitter  of  the  home- 
returning  swallows,  came  out  and  danced  a  minuet  on  the  door- 
step, wishfully  eyeing  the  nests  beneath  the  eaves ;  old  Bruno, 
following  the  frisky  example  of  his  feline  neighbor,  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  his  rheumatic  old  age,  and  whirled  about  in  a 
most  fantastic  and  doggedly  persevering  manner,  after  his  tail 
—  then  relapsed  into  his  wonted  gravity,  and  lay  down  close  be- 
side* Chip,  rubbing  his  smooth  nose  into  the  lad's  tanned,  hard- 
ened hand. 

As  Chip  lay  there,  he  heard  the  steady  tramp,  tramp,  of  Han- 
nah's thick  shoes  through  the  long  kitchen  and  up  and  down  the 
cellar-dairy  stairs,  mingled"  with  the  clatter  of  milk-pans  and 
pails.  Presently  she  made  her  appearance  in  tHe  old  shed-door, 
in  a  short  gown,  checked  linsey-woolsey  apron,  sleeves  tucked 
up  above  her  sharp,  skinny  elbows,  and  her  coarse,  wiry  black 
hair  streaked  with  gray,  fastened  by  a  high  horn  comb. 

"  Chip,  you  vagabond  !  be  in  here  in  jest  three  minutes,  I  tell 
you !  Here's  all  the  hogs  to  feed,  and  the  cheeses  to  turn  in  the 
press  - —  and  you  lazin'  there  ! "  she  screamed  shrilly,  placing 
the  milk-pan  she  held  down  by  the  door-step  on  a  smooth  strip 
of  board  to  "  scald  "  in  the  next  morning's  sun. 


PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  275 

The  bound  boy  rose  wearily  from  his  reclining  posture,  pick- 
ing up  his  tattered,  sunburnt  straw  hat. 

Just  then  little  Tommy  Sanders,  a  bright  lad  of  ten,  came 
whistling  along  the  road  on  his  return  from  "  the  village." 

"  Tired  —  aren't  you,  Chip  ?  "  he  asked  compassionately,  paus- 
ing to  lean  over  the  stone  wall. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Chip  with  a  sullen  look.  "  It's  dig,  dig  all 
the  time,  jest  like  a  nigger.  It's  '  Chip,  here  ! '  and  '  Chip,  do 
this  ! '  and  '  Chip,  do  that,  you  vagabond  ! '  No  rest  or  comfort 
•  since  she  come  —  the  old  dragon  !  I  jest  won't  hurry  in  one 
step"  and  he  settled  himself  resolutely  against  a  post  at  " the 
bars  "  close  by.  "  The  darned  old  hogs  !  —  no  use  feedin'  on 
'em  —  not  a  mite  !  —  they  don't  grow  an  atom  — jest  stopped  a 
growih'  out  o'  spite,  I  reckon  —  to  bother  her  !  Nothin'  wouldn't 
grow,  when  she's  round  lookin'  at  'em.  —  I  hate  her  !  "  he  cried 
energetically. 

"  So  does  everybody,  Chip  !  "  said  little  Tommy  sympathizingly, 
picking  out  a  small  smooth  stone  from  the  wall  and  hurling  it 
with  unerring  precision  at  a  turkey  strutting  past  the  shed-door. 
"  There,  I  wish  that  had  hit  her  old  gobbler  —  don't  you  ?  — 
Father,  and  Mr.  Green,  and  Capt.  Andrews  were  talking  about 
her  t'other  day  in  Deacon  Hawkins's  store  —  and  they  said  she 
treated  you  shamefully,  and  hadn't  no  business  here,  either.  I 
heard  the  deacon  whisper,  says  he,  kind  o'  low,  '  Depend  upon't, 
she  never  conic  by  that  property  honestly  —  for  I  remember  old 
Squire  Barton  told  me  one  day,  in  this  very  store  not  six  months 
before  he  died,  says  he,  "  I've  jest  been  making  Farmer  Wedge- 
wood's  will  —  and  depend  upon't,  his  farm  won't  go  to  any  of 
his  blood  relations  ! "  Yes,  Chip,  that's  what  I  heard"  con- 
tinued the  boy  breathlessly,  lowering  his  voice  to  a  whisper  — 
"  and  then  Deacon  Hawkins  told  how,  when  Uncle  Reuben 
died,  the  will  couldn't  be  found  —  and  Peace  was  turned  put  of 


276  PEACE  :  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

house  and  home.  Now  you  see,  Chip,"  whispered  Tommy,  "  I'll 
bet  anything,  that  Hannah  knew  where  that  will  was,  and  went 
and  stole  it !  By  George  !  She  knows  how  all  our  speckled 
hens  lay  in  her  barn,  and  she  gets  their  eggs  and  sells  'em.  Aint 
that  stealing  ?  —  and  if  she'd  steal  eggs,  wouldn't  she  a  got  the 
will  if  she  could  a  found  it  ?  "  and  this  -argument,  which  the 
boy  seemed  to  regard  as  a  poser,  was  clinched  by  another  mis- 
sile at  the  before-mentioned  venerable  turkey. 

Chip's  sullen  face  relaxed  when  Peace's  name  had  been 
spoken ;  and  as  the  boy  went  on,  his  little  faded  blue  eyes 
brightened. 

"  What  is  a  will,  Tommy  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  Why  don't  you  know,  Chip  ?  "  and  the  boy  looked  at  his 
"  lacking  "  neighbor  with  an  air  of  immense  superiority.  *'  Why 
it's  a  paper  that  folks  get  a  lawyer  to  write  for  'em,  to  tell  who's 
going  to  have  their  property  and  things  after  they're  dead.  Now 
you  see,  if  I'd  a  died  with  them  plaguy  measles  I  had  last 
winter,  I  should  a  had  my  will  made,  and  left  Ned  my  yoke  of 
steers,  Frank  my  sled,  and  some  o'  the  rest  o'  the  boys  my  new 
boots,  and  kite,  and  lots  o'  things  —  but  I  got  well.  But  then 
they  said  Uncle  Reuben  made  his  will,  and  give  away  everything 
to  Peace.  She's  gone  away  off  to  New  York  to  be  a  great 
teacher  now." 

•"  New  York,"  said  Chip,  after  a  few  moments  -r- "  ain't  that  a 
good  many  hundred  miles  off,  Tommy  ?  "  and  a  singular  look  of 
cunning  crept  into  his  eyes. 

"  It's  over  four  hu*dred,  —  I  heard  the  master  say  so  at 
school  yesterday.  But  you  ain't  going  to  run  away  and  find 
Peace,  and  tell  her  about  old  Hannah  —  are  you,  Chip  ?  " 

"  He,  he,  he  !  Guess  not !  Better  find  the  Witt  first  —  hadn't 
I,  Tommy  ?  — he,  he,  he  !  "  and  again  that  look  of  cunning  stole 
over  his  face. 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        277 

"  By  George  !  /  wouldn't  stay  here,  Til  bet !  "  said  Tommy 
stoutly.  "-Tell  you  what  I'd  do,"  and  he  whispered  confiden- 
tially, his  bright  eyes  sparkling  —  "  I'd  jest  run  away  in  the 
night.  —  Catch  me  staying  with  the  ugly  old  thing  !  —  I'll  bet  I 
wouldn't !  But  look  here,  Chip  —  don't  you  whisper  what  I 
said  about  the  will  —  'cause  father'd  lick  me  like  sixty  if  he 
knew  I  told  of  it.  He  tells  mother  'Little  pitchers  have  long 
ears '  —  s'pose  he  means  me.  But  you  won't  tell  —  will  you, 
Chip  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  was  the  satisfactory  answer. 

"  There  she  is  now !  Run,  Chip,  or  she'll  be  mad  as  a 
hornet !  "  and  little  Tommy  hurried  down  the  road  with  a  part- 
ing stone  flung  at  the  turkey. 

"  Here,  you  Chip !  didn't  I  call  you  half  an  hour  ago  ? " 
screamed  Hannah.  "  For  my  part,  I  wish  neighbors  would  keep 
their  young  ones  at  borne  —  and  not  always  have  'em  hanging 
round  other  folks'  houses.  I  should  like  to  catch  that  saucy  Tom 
Sanders  and  give  him  a  right  smart  shaking !  Step  yourself, 
Chip,  and  do  up  the  chores  afore  bed-time  —  and  see  that 
you're  up  bright  and  airly  for  the  churning !  " 

And  while  little  happy,  care-free  Tommy  Sanders  sauntered 
down  the  road,  whistling  blithely  and  making  tracks  with  his 
bare  feet  in  the  warm  sandy  highway,  then  frolicked  gayly  with 
his  brothers  in  the  yard  before  his  father's  house,  the  spiritless 
bound  boy  —  with  a  new,  strange  resolve  in  his  brain  —  per- 
formed his  evening  tasks,  then  crept  up  to  his  garret  bed. 


24 


CHAPTER    XXXx. 

"  This  is  my  home  again  !     Once  more  I  hail 
The  dear  old  gables  and  the  creaking  vanes. 
It  stands  all  flecked  with  shadows  in  the  moon, 
Patient,  and  white,  and  woeful.     'Tis  so  still, 
It  seems  to  brood  upon  its  youthful  years, 
When  children  sported  on  its  ringing  floors, 
And  music  trembled  through  its  happy  rooms." 

IT  was  July,  and  intensely  warm.  Mrs.  Delano's  town  man- 
sion was  closed  —  the  satin  brocatelle  upholstered  furniture  in 
brown  Holland  covers  ;  her  two  "  darlings,"  *the  governess,  little 
Cora  and  Nurse  Allen,  installed  for  the  sutamer  at  Lucien  Paf- 
frey's  old  country  house  at  Springdale  ;  and  the  lady  herself  with 
Florence,  and  Palfrey  as  escort,  had  sought  that  resort  of  the 
fashionable  world  —  Saratoga. 

The  tide  of  gayety,  at  its  flood  when,  with  her  stylish  equipage 
—  an  emblazoned  carriage,  pair  of  bays,  and  liveried  footman  — 
her  beautiful  daughter,  and  their  elegant  cavalier,  Mrs.  Delano 
made  her  appearance ;  and  the  party  were  duly  installed  in 
their  sumptuous  suite  of  rooms  at  'the  '  United  States,'  the  sleek 
bays  in  the  stables,  and  the  waves  of  fashionable  life  rolled  on 
as  before  their  advent. 

It  may  seem  strange  to  our  readers  who  have  obtained 
glimpses  of  Lucien  Palfrey's  character  and  tastes,  that  he  should 
so  readily  become  the  dupe  of  an  artful  designing  woman  like 
Florence  Delano  ;  but  at  this  period  of  his  life  there  was  nothing 
easier.  Returning,  as  he  had,  from  the  unsatisfying  life  of  a 
wanderer,  sighing  more  than  ever  for  the  repose  of  a  home  and 

(278) 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        279 

some  heart  whereon  he  might  cast  down  his  burden  —  remem- 
bering this  cousin  only  as  a  pretty  school-girl  who  had  often 
visited  Jenny  in  his  brief  married  life,  and  finding  her  now 
transformed  into  an  elegant  woman,  well  fitted  to  be  the  nucleus 
of  a  swarm  of  admirers,  yet  turning  from  all  to  devote  herself 
to  him  —  paying  him  a  hundred  little  grateful  attentions,  seem- 
ing always  so  gentle,  sweet  and  womanly,  so  exactly  the  coun- 
terpart of  his  beau  ideal  of  a  true  woman  —  what  wonder  that 
he  fell  into  the  snare  ? 

It  was  a  politic  move  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Delano  —  who,  from 
afar  off,  stood  watching  her  daughter's  operations  with  a  keen 
eye,  much  as  a  stout  general  would  have  reviewed  the  tactics  of 
some  detachment  sent  out  to  surprise  the  enemy  —  to  bring  Pal- 
frey as  their  escort  to  Saratoga. 

"  Florence,  you  cannot  remain  unsought  there ;  admirers  must 
flock  about  you ;  and  Lucien  will  see  that,  if  he  would  secure 
you,  it  must  be  done  at  once.  You  will  return  his  engaged 
wife." 

The  next  day  the  manoeuvring  mamma  quietly  informed  Pal- 
frey that  Florence's  health  was  failing,  and  the  physician  advised 
the  mineral  springs.  Would  he  forego  his  dislike  of  ci'owds  and 
gayeties,  and  accompany  them  —  or  was  it  asking  too  much  ? 

The  result  has  been  seen.     They  went  to  Saratoga. 

It  was  a  rare  old  place  —  that  country  seat  at-  Springdale. 

The  Hall  had  been  built  by  Palfrey's  paternal  ancestors,  and 
was  full  two  centuries  old  —  a  curious  mixture  of  various  kinds 
of  architecture  both  ancient  and  modern  —  the  low  sloping  gable 
roofs  and  little-paned  windows  betraying  its  Dutch  origin,  but 
new  wings,  and  other  improvements  made  by  successive  owners, 
imparting  to  it  quite  a  modernized  air. 

To  Peace  there  was  a  charm  about  it.     She  never  wearied 


280  PEACE  :    OK   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

of  stealing  at  twilight  into  the  long  drawing«-room  with  its  rich 
furniture  and  darkened  windows,  where  no  sun-ray  ever  entered 
to  gild  the  massive  picture-frames  or  chase  lurking  shadows  from 
the  corners,  save  once  or  twice  a  year,  when  the  old  housekeeper, 
Dame  Winslow,  threw  open  the  blinds  and  disturbed  the  heavy 
curtain-folds,  wiped  the  dust  from  the  polished  mahogany,  then 
closed  the  apartment  to  its  wonted  darkness  and  stillness.  And, 
creeping  into  the  little  boudoir  with  its  hangings  of  pale  green 
and  gold  which  Lucien  Palfrey  had  fitted  up  for  the  use  of  his 
beautiful  bride  —  standing  before  a  portrait  of  a  brilliant,  youth- 
ful face  with  crimson  lips  and  bands  of  raven  hair,  before  which 
old  Nurse  Allen  one  day  held  up  the  little  Cora,  saying, 
"  There,  dear,  that  beautiful  lady  was  your  mamma  !  "  —  musing 
over  the  story  the  old  lady  had  repeated  in  the  school-room, 
Peace  would  softly  sigh,  and  murmur,  "  Here  she  li ved  —  and 
here  he  was  unhappy  ! " 

Then  there  were  little  chambers  with  low  dormer  windows ; 
old,  rambling,  shadowy  passages  and  winding  stair-cases ;  a  long 
hall  leading  quite  through  the  mansion  from  front  to  rear,  where 
all  day  the  wind  blew  cool ;  but  she  loved  best  the  old  house- 
keeper's room  with  its  wainscoted  walls,  polished  oaken  floors, 
windows  facing  the  west  and  shaded  by  tall  laburum  trees,  and 
spruce  boughs  and  asparagus  plumes  in  the  open  fire-place  — 
for  there  was  a  home  air  about  it,  bringing  to  mind  the  little 
west  room  at  the  Ridge.  And  afternoons,  when  the  lessons  were 
over  and  the  children  played  in  the  garden,  and  old  Nurse  Allen 
sat  and  croned  with  the  housekeeper  about  "  young  Mr.  Lucien," 
sitting  there,  with  the  waning  sunlight  slanting  in,  listening  to 
the  old  women's  mumbling  voices,  she  would  close  her  eyes  and 
dream  of  Aunt  Patience,  and  fancy  herself  a  child  again. 

Then  there  were  such  deep  woods  close  by ;  and  scarce  fifty 
rods  distant,  loomed  a  pine  forest  heavily  against  the  sky,  where 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  281 

all  the  air  was  aromatic  with  the  fragrant  piney  odor,  and  the 
paths  underneath  were  soft  as  velvet  to  the  tread,  hollowed  with 
little  marshy  dells  where  sprang  pale  woodland  flowers  and  the 
fresh,  glossy  "  standing  evergreen." 

What  a  joy  it  was  to  the  girl  born  and  bred  in  the  cool,  still, 
green  country,  to  sit  for  hours  in  the  heart  of  the  forest  and  feel 
the  fresh  breathings  of  Nature,  after  that  wearying,  stifling  city 
life  !  Despite  her  loneliness,  the  memory  of  her  mother's 
wrongs,  her  own  heritage  of  shame  and  mystery,  and  her  later 
trials.  Peace  was  calmly  happy  there. 

And  yet,  it  must  not  be  inferred  that  Peace's  life  during  the 
past  winter  had  been  wholly  cheerless.  Of  her  experience  as 
governess,  the  first  day  in  Mrs.  Delano's  house  was  a  fair  sam- 
ple. That  lady's  "  darlings  *  were  in  no  wise  calculated  to  ren- 
der their  teacher's  task  a  peculiarly  pleasant  one,  although  she 
had  succeeded,  by  uniform  and  gentle  firmness,  in  winning  them 
over  to  a  degree  of  tractableness.  But  there  were  a  few  pleas- 
ant things  mingled  with  the  bitter,  —  her  increasing  fondness  for 
the  winning  Cora,  and  Palfrey's  frequent  visits  to  the  school- 
room. Happily  for  the  governess,  neither  Mrs.  Delano  nor  her 
daughter  imagined  that  evenings  they  supposed  devoted  to  his 
child  in  the  nursery,  were  invariably  spent  in  the  school-room. 
And,  as  Palfrey  never  encountered  her  in  presence  of  the  fam- 
ily, and  old  Nurse  Allen  wisely  kept  her  own  counsel  —  and, 
latterly,  the  young  man,  yielding  to  the  charming  toils  of  his 
beautiful  cousin,  gradually  came  to  omit  his  visits  to  the  school- 
room, so  it  happened  that  Florence  Delano*  deemed  herself 
secure  of  her  admirer. 

There  had,  however,  been  a  firm  friend  to  the  lonely  girl  in 
that  great  city  —  Orah  Rowland.  When  they  parted  at  school 
—  Orah  for  her  year's  sojourn  in  Europe,  and  Peace  for  another 
year's  study  ere  her  graduation,  their  friendship  was  firmly 

24* 


282  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

cemented  ;  and  when,  on  a  bright  winter's  morning,  they  met 
again  on  the  crowded  pave  of  New  York's  great  thoroughfare, 
the  stately  city  belle  bestowed  a  warm  recognition  upon  the 
humble  governess.  A  few  days  afterward  found  Judge  How- 
land's  carriage  drawn  up  at  Mrs.  Delano's  mansion,  and  its  occu- 
pant inquiring  for  Miss  Wedgewood  ;  and  the  fact  of  her  pos- 
sessing such  a  friend  as  the  aristocratic  Miss  Rowland  was,  of 
itself,  quite  sufficient  to  ensure  Peace  more  cordial  treatment  at 
the  hands  of  her  gold-loving,  station-worshipping  employer.  So 
that  winter  had  passed,  brightened  by  the  friendship  of  the  noble 


One  day,  in  a  longer  than  her  wonted  stroll  among  the  hills, 
Peace  gained'  a  view  of  the  gray  stone  cottage  near  the  angle  of 
the  cliff,  and  paused  to  catch  the  flutter  of  white  drapery  under 
the  whitewood  tree  ere  she  went  back  to  the  Hall. 

"  Is  it  inhabited  ?  "  she  asked  the  old  housekeeper  on  her  re- 
turn. "I  mean  that  little  stone  cottage  away  up  on  yonder 
mountain." 

"No  indeed,  —  it  must  be  going  to  ruin  now,"  was  Dame 
Winslow's  reply. 

"  But  I  thought  —  nay,  I  am  sure  —  I  saw  a  moving  form 
there  this  morning,  and  the  flutter  of  a  woman's  garments.  I 
could  not  have  been  mistaken  !  "  persisted  Peace. 

"  Well,  maybe,  child  ;  but  John  would  have  heard  at  the  vil- 
lage if  anybody  lived  there,  I  reckon  —  and  he  never  breathed 
such  a  thing.  Let  me  see  —  it  must  be  nigh  about  eighteen 
year  ago  "  —  and  the  old  lady  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  to 
conjure  up  old  memories  —  "yes,  it  is  eighteen  year  ago  this 
comin'  September  —  I  remember  my  nephew  Horace,  him  that's 
got  to  be  a  minister  now,  he  was  about  ten  year  old  then  —  well, 
'twas  about  that  time,  that  a  purty  young  creetur  as  you  ever  sot 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        283 

your  eyes  on  went  away  from  the  old  stone  cottage  so  sudden- 
like.  She'd  lived  there  three  year  or  upwards  —  but  dreadful 
shy-like  —  never  comin'  down  to  the  village,  nor  nobody  ever 
goin'  up  there,  till  after  her  little  boy  died  —  he  was  drownded  in 
the  lake  back  of  the  mountain,  they  said  —  and  then  the  men  all 
turned  out  to  hunt  for  the  body,  but  'twas  never  found.  Well, 
you  see  after  this  little  boy  died,  she  seemed  lonesomer  and 
shyer  than  ever  —  and  never  made*  talk  with  folks  if  they  went 
up  there  ;  and  in  September,  all  of  a  sudden  she  disappeared, 
and  never  come  back." 

"  Who  was  she  ?  and  why  did  she  live  there  ?  "  asked  Peace, 
breathlessly,  with  strange  interest. 

"Well,  dear,  I  reckon  she  stayed  alone  for  the  most  part — 
she  and  her  little  boy.  I've  seen  'em,  summer  afternoons,  walk- 
in'  down  the  hill-path  to  the  valley  —  and  once,  I  went  out  a 
purpose  to  see  her  close  to,  though  I  pretended  to  be  a  pickin' 
berries  that  grew  thick  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  Let  me  see  — 
she  was  handsome  as  a  picter,  though  she  looked  sad  and  pitiful- 
like.  She  had  bright  shiny  hair,  and  sad-lookin'  eyes,  though 
they  were  blue  as  the  flax  flower,  like  yours  —  yes  !  I  declare, 
jest  like  yours,  for  the  world  !  "  —  and  the  old  dame  threw  up 
her  hands.  "  There  !  I  told  Aunt  Allen,"  she  went  on,  "  I  told 
her  all  along,  how  you  looked  nateral-like  —  and  I  do  say  now, 
you're  the  very  picter  o'  her  !  "  —  and  she  attentively  regarded 
her  listener.  "  But,  poor  creetur ! "  —  and  she  resumed  her 
story  with  a' sigh  —  "poor  creetur!  that's  neither  here  nor 
there  —  I  never  saw  her  agin  !  After  the  boy  was  drownded, 
she  never  come  down  to  the  valley ;  and  all  of  a  sudden  they 
said  the  cottage  was  empty." 

"  And  the  child  was  drowned  ?  —  and  the  woman  went  away  ? 
— 'and  was  there  nobody  else  who  ever  lived  there  ?  "  asked 
Peace  slowly,  as  though  articulation  were  painful. 


284  PEACE  :     OK    TIIK    STOLEN    WILL. 

"  Yes  —  seems  to  me,  child  —  yes,  I  do  remember  now," 
mused  the  old  lady,  "how  old  Mr.  Palfrey  —  young  Mr. 
Lucien's  father  —  come  home  from  the  city  one  night,  and  said 
how  a  fine  young  city  buck  come  into  these  parts  in  the  same 
stage  with  him  ;  and  that  very  evening,  when  the  moonlight  was 
bright  as  day,  he  sat  on  the  back  piazzy  and  saw  somebody  goin' 
up  the  hill-path ;  and  when  he'd  taken  a  look  through  the  old 
spy-glass  he  told  John  to*fetch  out,  I  heard  him  telling  Mrs. 
Palfrey,  sez  he,  '  That's  the  same  young  man  that  rode  up  to 
Springdale  with  me  ! '  * 

"  But  did  anybody  ever  hear  his  name  ?  "  asked  the  young 
girl  in  a  strange  husky  voice.  "  Who  was  he,  Mrs.  Winslow  ?  " 

"  Laws,  child !  dear  knows  —  I  don't !  There  are  allers 
enough  bad  men  in  the  world  to  shut  up  their  poor  mistresses  in 
sich  out-o'-the-way  places  —  most  likely  she  was  his!  But, 
poor  thing !  I  couldn't  help  pityin'  her  as  she  stood  there  on 
the  hill  that  afternoon,  holdin'  her  little  boy  in  her  arms,  look- 
in'  so  pale  and  disconsolate-like  !  Poor  young  creetur !  she 
looked  as  pure  and  innocent  as  an  angel,  only  so  sorrowful ! 
But  bless  me,  child!  you're  white  as  a  sheet!  Are  you  sick? 
You'd  better  go  right  to  bed,  dear  —  and  I'll  bring  you  up  a 
cup  of  nice  warm  tea.  That  long  walk  was  too  much  for 
you!" 

"  And  you  never  heard  anything  more  after  she  left  ?  Did 
the  man  ever  come  again  ?  "  persisted  Peace. 

"  La,  child,  what  makes  you  so  curous  ?  Poor  creetur !  I 
should  like  to  know  what  become  of  her  —  but  never  shall,  now ; 
As  for  him,  I've  told  you  all  I  know.  Most  likely  the  Lord  has 
rewarded  him  for  his  mistreatment  of  that  poor  young  woman 
long  before  this.  '  Vengeance  is  mine,  and  I  will  repay,  saith 
the  Lord.'  But,  dear  child,  you  look  tired.  Do  go  up 
Btairs ! " 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  285 

When  good  Mrs.  Winslow  brought  up  a  cup  of  smoking  tea  to 
Peace,  she  said: 

"  I  believe  the'  old  spy-glass  is  up  garret  somewhere,  and  I'll 
hunt  it  up  to-morrow ;  then  you  can  watch  the  o.ld  cottage  on 
the  mountain  all  day,  if  you  want  to,  from  your  window,  and  find 
out  purty  quick  if  anybody  goes  in  or  out.  Now  drink  your  tea, 
dear  —  and  go  to  sleep  !  " 

But  little  sleep  came  to  Peace's*  eyes.  In  a  corner  of  her 
trunk  lay  an  old  bead  bag  which  had  belonged  to  Patience.  She 
took  thence  a  bit  of  folded  linen  in  which  was  carefully  wrapped 
a  piece  of  faded,  age-stained  paper  —  evidently  the  back  of  a 
note  or  letter,  on  which  was  superscribed,  in  a  manly  hand,  the 
two  words  "  Augustus  Revere ; "  and  now,  alternately  gazing 
from  that  name  to  the  miniature  she  held  open,  and  musing  over 
the  old  housekeeper's  recital,  surely  it  was  not  her  imagination 
that  converted  that  recital  into  a  startling  revelation.  That 
paper  had  been  found  in  the  pocket  of  Mary  Halpine's  dress  ; 
and  now,  the  lapse  of  time  —  nearly  eighteen  years,  —  the  mem- 
ory of  Uncle  Reuben's  words,  "  Peace,  you  are  the  image  of 
your  mother,"  —  and  the  story  of  a  baby -brother's  death  by 
drowning,  for  Mary  Halpine's  dying  words  had  been  repeated  to 
her  child,  —  one  and  all,  were  they  not  links  in  the  chain  which 
drew  her  nearer  the  knowledge  of  her  parentage  ? 

And  yet,  all  seemed  a  mockery  !  Years  not  only  had  fled ; 
but  Death  might  divide  her  from  that  father  for  whom  her  heart 
yearned.  Or,  if  living,  how,  in  the  wide,  wide  world,  could  she 
hope  to  encounter  him  ?  Or,  if  that  might  be,  would  he  acknowl- 
edge her ; —  the  child  of  shame  ?  Uncle  Reuben's  words  at 
Patience's  death-bed,  "  For  thirteen  years  you  have  been  our 
child,  and  he  never  came  to  claim  you,"  swept  across  her  mem- 
ory like  a  funeral  knell. 

Long  after  midnight,  while  the  moon  came  up  and  silvered 


286  PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

the   hill-side   cliffs,  she  sat  gazing  at  the  stone  cottage  with  tear- 
ful eyes. 

"  There,  my  mother  lived  and  suffered,"  she  murmured  with 
pale,  quivering  lips.  But  ah !  her  heart  did  not  whisper  how 
near  to  her  that  night  dwelt  her  beloved  school-time  companion 
—  sweet  Leafy  Earle  ! 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

Merciful  God ! 

It  comes  —  that  face  again,  that  white,  white  face« 
Set  in  a  night  of  hair ;  reproachful  eyes, 

That  make  me  mad. 

ALEXANDER  SMITH. 

THE  morrow  came  • —  a  pleasant  day  with  a  soft  west  wind  ; 
and  when  Peace  awoke,  her  first  glance  was  toward  the  hill-side 
cottage. 

On  going  down  to  breakfast  she  found  the  old  housekeeper  in 
"  a  heap  of  trouble,"  as  the  good  dame  expressed  it.  The  vil- 
lage dressmaker,  Miss  Goodfii,  had  just  brought  up  to  the  Hall 
a  nice  new  black  silk  —  a  present  to  Dame  Winslow  from 
"young  Mr.  Lucien,"  in  which  the  old  lady,  with  pardonable 
vanity,  had  designed  to  appear  at  Springdale  church  on  the 
approaching  Sabbath,  in  honor  of  a  favorite  nephew  who  was  to 
preach  for  the  first  time  in  his  native  village. 

"  Dear  knows,"  said  the  old  lady,  holding  up  the  nearly  com- 
pleted dress  as  Peace  entered  the  breakfast  room,  "  dear  knows 
I  don't  want  to  be  a  bit  proud,  but  when  a  body's  own  nephew 
—  him  that  I  eddicated  ever  since  he  was  a  lad  —  comes  home 
from  the  University  a  fine  minister,  seems  to  me  that  a  body 
might  be  pardoned  for  wantin'  to  spruce  up  a  little  extra.  You 
see,  Miss  Peace,  young  Master  Lucien  brought  me  home  this 
gown  from  foreign  parts  —  'twas  real  kind  and  thoughtful-like 
in  him  —  and  sez  he,  '  Here,  Mother  Winslow '  —  he  always 
calls  me  mother  — '  here's  a  little  present  for  you.'  And  thinks 
I,  after  I'd  unrolled  the  parcel,  I'll  jist  carry  this  over  to  Miss 

(287) 


288  .      PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

Hepsy  Goodfit  and  have  it  made  up  to  wear  when  my  nephew 
Horace  visits  Springdale,  and  I'll  have  it  made  up  with  a  cape, 
and  great  sleeves,  like  the  Squire's  wife's  watered  silk.  Well, 
t'other  day  when  I  was  at  the  village,  I  carried  it  in  to  the 
manty-makers,  and  she  measured  off  the  skirt  and  cut  the  body 
and  cape  —  I  was  dreadful  partic'lar  about  the  cape,  you  see  — 
that's  what's  done  the  .mischief —  and  then,  some  folks  comin' 
in  all  in  a  hurry,  I  come  off,  and  we  both'Torgot  all  about  the 
sleeves.  Now  here's  Miss  Goodfit,  been  up  here  bright  and 
arly  this  mornin',  and  says  it  don't  hold  out,  'and  I  must  pattern 
the  silk  —  and  it  can't  be  done  short  of  York,  and  she  ain't  goin' 
down  till  next  week  —  so  I'll  have  to  give  up  the  gown  for  next 
Sunday's  wearin'.  —  Well,  I  s'pose  it's  all  for  the  best !  Old 
women  like  me  shouldn't  get  vain,  even  if  their  relations  do 
happen  to  get  to  be  fine  ministers,"  and  the  good  dame  began 
refolding  the  dress. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Winslow,  let  me  go  into  town  and  match  your 
silk  for  you  !  You  know  the  boat  comes  along  at  eight,  and  it 
is  now  only  six,"  exclaimed  Peace,  glancing  at  the  clock. 

"  La,  no,  dear  —  I  couldn't  think  o'  such  a  thing  !  It's  going 
to  be  a  dreadful  hot  day  —  and  the  jaunt  would  be  too  much  for 
you  after  your  long  walk  yesterday  !  " 

"  Oh,  that  was  nothing  !  I  am  perfectly  well  this  morning  — 
and  should  enjoy  it  much.  Please  let  me  go,  dear  Mrs.  Wins- 
low,"  persisted  Peace. 

"  Well,  child  —  if  you  insist  upon't,"  and  the  old  lady  wavered 
—  "  for  I  do  want  the  gown  sadly.  And  John  shall  harness  up 
and  car^ry  you  down  to  the  landing.  You're  a  dear  good  child, 
to  humor  an  old  woman's  whims  so ;  but  depend  upon't,  you 
sha'n't  be  the  loser  by  it,  either." 

Half  an  hour  after  —  breakfast  over,  and  her  pupils  delighted 
at  the  prospect  of  a  holiday  —  Peace,  neatly  attired  in  a  mourn- 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        zy9 

ing  muslin  and  cottage  hat,  with  a  huge  pattern  of  Dame  "VVins- 
low's  silk  safely  stowed  away  by  that  careful  lady  in  her  reticule, 
was  seated  in  a  low  carriage  beside  old  John,  ready  to  drive  to 
the  village  steamboat-landing.  And  the  old  lady  stood  on  the 
broad  piazza,  where  she  had  reiterated  her  charges  "  to  be  sure 
and  not  walk  about  them  hot  city  streets,"  "  and  go  down  to  Mrs. 
Delano's  house  to  dinner."  "  She's  a  purty  creetur  —  so  young 
and  modest,  yet  womanly-like  ! "  said  the  dame  to  Aunt  Allen 
as  the  carriage  wound  along  the  valley  road.  "  Somehow,  the 
more  I  think  on't,  the  more  she  does  look  like  that  poor  young 
woman  that  lived  up  in  the  cottage  there  so  many  year  ago. 
There  !  that  puts  me  in  mind  that  I'll  go  straight  up  garret  and 
hunt  up  that  old  spy-glass. 

"  I  wish  it  might  be  nephew  Horace's  good  fortin'  to  get  such 
a  good  wife  as  Peace'll  make  !  "  she  added,  pausing  and  looking 
back  at  the  old  nurse.  "  Such  a  minister's  wife  as  she'd  make, 
Aunt  Allen  ! " 

"  For  my  part,  I  don't  see  where  young  Mr.  Lucien's  eyes  are, 
to  take  that  proud,  flirtin'  Miss  Florence  before  her.  It  'pears 
to  me  his  journey  to  furrin  parts  warn't  all  for  the  best,  if  he's 
goin'  to  marry  her,  as  they  say.  But  there,  Mrs.  Winslow  — 
'tain't  no  sort  of  airthly  use  for  you  or  I  to  plan  !  These  men 
will  do  as  they've  a  mind  to,  spite  of  us ;  and  I've  about 
settled  down  into  the  belief  it's  best  to  let  'em  take  their  own 
way.  Experience's  the  best  master,  I  reckon,  for  some  of  'em  !  " 
and  the  indignant  old  lady  followed  Cora  into  the  hall.  "  If 
they  will  walk  right  into  the  fire  with  their  eyes  wide  open,  / 
can't  help  it  1  " 

In  a  short  time  after  Peace  was  set  down  at  the  landing,  the 
little  steamer  .came  down  river  —  its  paddle-wheels  leaving  a 

25 


290  PEACE  :    OB   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

long  white  foamy  wake  on  the  water,  and  puffs  of  wreathing 
smoke  flecking  the  blue  air. 

Daily  the  boat  made  the  trip  downward  to  the  city,  returning 
at  nightfall  —  and  as  the  plank  was  withdrawn,  and  Peace  lin- 
gered on  deck,  watching  the  green,  wooded  banks,  she  felt  a 
novel  delight  at  the  prospect  of  her  little  journey.  True,  the 
memory  of  the  preceding  night's  revelation  clung  to  her  then  ; 
but  the  freshness  and  sunlight  exerted  a  wonderful  cheery  and 
strengthening  influence,  infusing  the  subtle  alchemy  of  hope  into 
her  heart. 

Blessed  sunlight !  reviver  and  strengthener  !  folding  back  the 
shadows  that  shroud  our  spirits  in  the  brooding  night-time  — 
bringing  light  and  hope  with  the  day !  —  type  of  that  greater, 
more  blessed  sunlight  —  the  true  God-ray  —  vivifying  our  lives 
when  densest  earth-sorrows  sit  around  the  hearthstones  of  our 
hearts  ! 

The  wooded  banks  flung  down  giant  shadows  in  the  river  — 
wild  geranium-blossoms  trailed  down  to  the  water's  edge  — 
,  white  villas  gleamed  out  from  shady  glens,  or  reared  their  fronts, 
rich  in  .architectural  adornments,  on  commanding  eminences  — 
and,  from  some  bold  projecting  promontory,  gnarled  and  gloomy 
firs  deeply  rooted  in  the  earthly  interstices  of  the  ledgy  soil, 
leaned  riverward,  flinging  distorted  shadows  into  the  blue  mirror 
below. 

Now  and  then  little  pleasure-boats  darted  out  from  some  dark 
wooded  cove,  skimming  along  neck  and  neck  with  the  swift 
steamer,  while  the  passengers  watched  the  chase  with  animated 
interest ;  flocks  of  birds,  upspringing  from  some  topmost  tree- 
branch,  circled  round  and  round  in  their  flight,  following  the 
vessel  —  at  times  sinking  almost  to  the  deck,  then  rapidly  whir- 
ring away  as  if  in  fear  of  the  great  fiery-breathed  monster 
ploughing  the  calm  waters  of  the  river.  And  Peace  watched, 


PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        291 

with  especial  interest,  one  great  dusky-winged  bird  circling  high 
above  the  vessel's  track,  —  then,  wheeling  suddenly  on  his 
course,  beating  the  air  with  heavy  strokes  of  his  great  wings,  he 
poised  above  the  chain  of  hills  around  Springdale,  and  with  a 
rapid  swoop  fell  downward,  settling  on  the  cliff  overhanging  the 
stone  cottage. 

The  girl  shuddeTed,  as  the  ill-omened,  boding  rav.en  set- 
tled down.  The  old  housekeeper's  recital  rushed  across  her 
mind. 

"  My  poor,  poor  mother  !  "  she  murmured,  with  tearful 
eyes. 

At  length  the  roar  of  the  city  smote  on  her  ears  —  the  steady 
rumbling  of  drays  and  carriages  rolling  along  toward  the 
wharves,  the  shouts  of  drivers  and  porters,  and  cries  of  news- 
boys, mingling  with  a  thousand  other  city  sounds  ;  and  amid  the 
deepening  din  the  little  river  steamer  worked  her  way  toward 
the  wharf  among  the  countless  craft  of  every  description,  and 
with  a  few  heavy  puffs  of  smoke  and  a  slow  measured  beat  of 
the  engine,  came  up  to  her  station. 

Peace  quickly  and  somewhat  timidly  threaded  her  way  among 
the  crowd  ;  and,  walking  rapidly,  soon  found  herself  in  that  por- 
tion of  the  city  with  which  she  was  familiar.  Taking  a  car- 
riage, she  soon  gained  Mrs.  Delano's  house.  Going  round  to 
the  basement  entrance,  her  ring  was  answered  by  Mrs.  Warren, 
in  whose  charge  the  house  was  left,  and  who  heartily  welcomed 
her  visitor.  After  mutual  inquiries,  dinner,  and  an  hour's  rest 
in  her  own  chamber,  Peace  started  forth  again. 

At  a  later  hour,  her  purchases  over,  she  walked  slowly  out  on 
the  Battery,  enjoying  keenly  the  fresh  sea-air  and  lingering 
under  the  grateful  shade-trees.  Suddenly  a  thought  occurred  — 
"  Perhaps  Orah  Rowland  is  in  town  !  "  —  and  she  soon  stood 
before  Judge  Rowland's  mansion,  in  a  retired  quarter  of  the  city, 


292  PEACE  :     OK    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

and  shaded  by  a  few  magnificent  trees  rooted  when  New  York 

was  a  full  century  younger. 

Her  visit  was  a  successful  one ;  and  in  a  few  moments  she 

found  herself  seated  in  the  long,  cool,  darkened  drawing-room, 

and  welcomed  with  the  warmest  expressions  of  regard. 

"  You  naughty  girl ! "  said  Orah  in  playful  earnestness,  "  I 

have  the  best  mind  to  scold  you  for  going  off  into  the  country 

without  apprizing  me  of  your  intention  !     Why  did  you  not 

come  to  bid  me  good  bye  ?  " 
Peace  smiled. 
"  Because  I  supposed  that,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  fashionable 

world,  you  were  too  busily  occupied  with  dress-makers  and  mil- 
liners in  preparation  for  your  summer's  flitting  to  some  watering- 
place,  to  spare  many  precious  minutes  for  your  poor  friend,  the 
governess.  Even  now,  my  call  was  an  experiment ;  for  I  scarce 
expected  to  find  you  still  in  town." 

"  Unkind  Peace  !  when  was  Orah  Rowland  so  immersed  in 
fashionable  frivolities  as  to  deny  herself  to  her  dearest  school- 
time  friend  ?  As  for  crowded  watering-places,"  she  added  with 
a  change  of  manner,  "  I  detest  them !  Latterly,  as  perhaps 
you  may  know,  I  have  gained  the  reputatioli  of  being  "  odd," 
"  eccentric,"  —  and  I  choose  to  prove  it,  by  preferring  the  com- 
fort of  our  cool,  airy  house,  to  imprisonment  in  little  seven- 
by-nine  sleeping  apartments,  dancing  till  daylight  in  crowded 
halls,  or  sitting  over  interminable  dinners  at  the  hotels  of 
Newport  or  Saratoga.  Such  martyrs  to  Fashion  have  my 
supremest  pity !  By  and  by,  I  may  visit  a  pleasant  country 
town  in  Massachusetts,  where  I  passed  the  most  of  my  school- 
vacations,  or  -I  may  remain  here.  But  what  sort  of  a  place  are 
you  staying  at  ?  "  she  resumed.  "  A  real  bona  fide  old  country 
house  ?  Then  I  must  drive  out  there  some  day ;  Louis  would 
like  no  better  office  than  chaperone,  pi-ovided  a  certain  young 


PEACE  1.  OK    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  293 

friend  of  mine  would  grant  him  a  warm  welcome  !  "  —  and  she 
glanced  archly  toward  her  companion. 

A  slight  blush  dyed  Peace's  cheek. 

"  Certainly,  I  should  indeed  be  most  happy  to  see  Mr.  How- 
land  there,"  she  said  in  a  slightly  constrained  voice ;  "  but  oh, 
if  you  would  come  there,  Orali,  and  spend  a  week  with  me,  it 
would  seem  quite  like  the  old  school-days  again.  There  are 
such  grand  old  woods  !  such  sunsets  !  such  flower-scented  winds  ! 
You  know  nothing  about  it  here  in  your  great  city  I  You  will 
come  ! 

"  Thank  you  !  yes  indeed,  my  dear  !  "  —  and  Orah  clasped  the 
hand  that  lay  like  a  little  snow-flake  on  the  arm  of  the  crimson 
damask  chair.  "  I  should  be  delighted  —  for  I  do  love  the  coun- 
try right  well !  But  is  it  true,  Peace,  that  Dr.  Palfrey  is  shortly 
to  marry  that  heartless,  soulless  Florence  Delano  ?  I  hope  not, 
for  his  sake,  —  for,  though  I  do  not  know  much  of  the  man,  I 
should  judge  him  to  possess  a  fine,  sensitive  nature,  which  cer- 
tainly cannot  be  similar  to  hers.  Is  it  so  ?  " 

"  They  all  say  so,"  answered  Peace. 

Her  reply  was  uttered  in  a  low  tone,  and  Orah  Rowland  felt 
the  hand  clasped  in  hers  tremble ;  and  she  looked  searchingly 
from  under  her  jetty  eye-lashes  into  a  face  which  she  fancied 
grew  pale,  despite  the  warming  tint  of  the  heavy  crimson  broca- 
telle  curtains.  A  sudden  light  flashed  on  her  brain  ;  and  at  that 
moment,  Orah  dimly  guessed  what  caused  that  quivering  hand 
and  paling  cheek.  Like  shafts  had  pierced  both  their  hearts, 
and  the  calm,  proud,  elegant  woman,  and  the  quiet,  shrinking, 
humble  governess,  alike  suffered.  Instinctively  her  hand  tight- 
ened over  Peace's. 

The  little  silence  that  followed  was  broken  by  Orah. 

"  Peace,  do  you  know  anything  of  Leafy  Earle  these 
days?" 

25* 


294  I'KACE  :    OB   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

The  girl  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  The  silence  was  sti- 
fling. 

"  I  have  heard  from  her  but  once  since  I  left  Northfield.  She 
wrote  me  then  from  her  country  home,  saying  that  she  should  go 
to  some  city  —  perhaps  this  —  where  the  sale  of  her  paintings 
would  support  her  mother  and  herself.  I  wrote  immediately 
in  return,  but  no  reply  ever  reached  me.  Perhaps  she  is 
here." 

"  That  accounts  for  it,  then  !  "  —  and  Orah's  eye  brightened. 
"  A  few  weeks  ago,  in  a  picture-store,  I  purchased-  two  minia- 
ture landscapes  —  perfect  gems  of  Art  —  and  on  close  inspec- 
tion a  few  days  since,  discovered  two  tiny  initials,  '  L.  E.,'  in 
the  corner.  Let  us  go  up  and  see  them  —  they  are  in  my 
dressing-room.  They  must  be  hers !  To-morrow  I  will  visit 
the  store  and  inquire  where  the  proprietor  procured  them  — 
thus,  if  Leafy  be  in  the  city,  we  can  obtain  a  clue  to  her." 

Time  passed  rapidly  to  the  two  girls  in  the  dressing-room, 
until,  as  the  clock  on  the  mantel  chimed  five,  Peace  rose  to 
depart. 

"The  boat  leaves  at  six,"  she  said.  "I  shall  have  scarce 
time  for  my  walk." 

"  No,  no !  —  let  it  go  ! "  pleaded  Orah.  "  Pass  the  night 
with  me,  and  in  the  morning  Louis  shall  drive  us  out  to  Spring- 
dale  in  an  open  carriage.  It  will  be  delightful ! " 

Peace  wavered  for  a  moment ;  but,  remembering  the  anxiety 
that  Dame  Winslow  must  feel  if  the  evening  boat  came  without 
her,  and  old  John's  promise  to  be  in  waiting  at  the  landing,  she 
decided  to  return. 

After  Orah  Rowland  had  kissed  Peace  at  the  hall-door  and 
put  her  from  her  with  a  quick  movement  at  parting,  she  went 
hastily  into  the  drawing-room. 

"  Why  is  that  girl  so  dear  to  me  ? "   she  said,  vehemently 


PEACE  :     OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL.  295 

pacing  up  and  down  the  velvet  carpet  with  its  rich  Sorrento 
roses.  "  Why  —  but  because  she  is  so  much  like  him  !  —  the 
same  eyes,  the  same  smile,  the  same  high,  proud  nature  softened 
and  tempered  into  womanhood !  It  was  that  which  first  drew 
me  to  her  ha  the  old  school-days  —  she  was  so  like  him !  •  Oh, 
Jasper,  Jasper !  Can  it  be,  that  I  have  not  conquered  myself 
yet  ?  Heart,  are  you  not  yet  laid  to  sleep  ?  "  —  and  she  clasped 
her  fingers  tightly  over  it  —  "  that  a  word,  a  tone,  a  smile  so  like 
his,  has  power  to  make  me  grow  faint !  When  I  thought  every 
memory  had  been  steeped  in  the  Lethean  tide  of  forgetfulness 
—  now,  hydra-headed,  they  rise  to  haunt  me  !  Oh,  I,  who  have 
so  counted  upon  my  strength  —  who  have  thought  to  pluck  up 
every  memory  of  that  past,  and  cast  it  from  me  —  Oh,  I  am 
weaker,  weaker  than  a  very  reed  in  the  gale  !  "  —  and  she  flung 
herself  passionately  on  a  couch,  heavy  tears  forcing  their  way 
through  her  jewelled  fingers. 

After  many  minutes  of  painful,  passionate  weeping,  she  again 
stemmed  back  the  turbulent  tide  of  Feeling  and  shut  the  iron 
gate  of  Resolve  against  it. 

"  This  is  not  well !  Others  have  suffered,  and  conquered  — 
why  not  I?  Henceforth  I  am  strong  ! " 

A  rapid  walk  soon  brought  Peace  to  the  crowded  business 
thoroughfares  of  the  city.  The  pavements  were  thronged,  car- 
riages obstructed  the  crossings,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  she 
threaded  her  way.  At  length,  in  endeavoring  to  cross  a  wide 
street  whence  she  could  emerge  into  another  where  a  narrow 
alley  cut  off  a  portion  of  the  distance  to  the  wharf,  she  was 
forced  to  a  stand  by  an  unbroken  file  of  vehicles.  A  crowd  had 
collected  about  the  crossing,  for  the  most  part,  business  men  — 
judging  from  their  keen,  eager  countenances,  and  evident  impa- 
tience at  the  detention ;  and  close  beside  her,  chafing  at  the 


296  PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

delay,  and  awaiting  the  first  opening  among  the  carriages,  stood 
a  man  who  at  once  attracted  Peace's  attention. 

His  haughty  personal  beauty  first  arrested  her  eye.  He 
had  reached  —  certainly  not  exceeded  —  the  prime  of  life,  for 
there  were  but  few  silver  threads  in  his  luxuriant  curls ;  his 
teeth  were  white  and  perfect,  gleaming  through  heavy  but  well- 
cut  lips  ;  his  hands  white  as  a  lady's  ;  but  his  countenance  had  a 
pale,  almost  haggard  look,  and  the  eyebrows  were  contracted,  as 
if  with  anxious  thought.  As  he  stood  there,  nervously  grinding 
his  heel  into  the  pavement,  Peace's  gaze,  as  by  some  strange 
fascination,  was  rivetted  upon  him ;  nor  could  she  withdraw  it. 

Suddenly  a  change  of  position  by  the  pressure  of  the  crowd 
brought  them  face  to  face.  Such  a  change  as  passed  over  his 
features  then  !  He  had  been  pale  before  —  now,  a  marble  hue 
settled  on  them ;  and  surprise,  wonder,  almost  terror,  alternated 
on  that  face. 

Peace  dropped  her  eyes,  half-terrified,  and  with  trembling 
feet  crept  away.  But  the  gaze  of  those  eyes  —  every  feature  of 
that  face  —  was  daguerreotyped  upon  her  brain.  Somewhere, 
had  she  seen  them  before  —  but  when,  or  where,  she  knew  not. 
She  grew  bewildered,  confused,  and  so  glided  away. 

When  the  crowd  had  separated  and  the  street  was  clear,  still 
that  man  stood  where  she  had  left  him  —  white,  immovable  as  a 
statue.  People  jostled  him  in  passing  —  merchants  of  note 
touched  their  hats  to  him  —  friends  went  by  with  a  greeting  ; 
but  he  stirred  not  for  many  moments.  At  length,  passing  his 
hand  over  his  forehead  like  one  awakening  from  a  dream,  he 
murmured  hollowly,  "  Good  God !  was  it  a  spirit  ?  Can  the 
dead  come  back  to  haunt  me  ?  "  —  and  dropping  his  white  hands 
nervously,  he  bent  his  haughty  head  as  though  age  'had  suddenly 
stricken  him,  and  moved  on. 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        297 

On  the  deck  of  the  little  river  steamer  ploughing  her  home- 
ward way  —  unmindful  of  the  sunset  glories  playing  over  sky, 
earth,  and  water,  tinting  the  clouds  piled  above  Weehawken's 
summit  with  streaks  of  crimson  and  gold,  flashing  with  long 
lance-like  rays  through  wooded  steeps  and  over  grassy  slopes, 
then  cresting  the  noble  river  with  a  thousand  flashing  jewels  — 
unmindful  of  the  soft  west  wind  playing  on  her  brow  and  bring- 
ing flower-scents  from  villa-gardens  along  the  banks,  sat  Peace, 
her  every  thought  given  to  that  haunting  face. 

When  the  evening  shadows  had  deepened,  and  the  starlight 
shone  overhead,  the  boat  stopped  at  a  little  landing  a  few  miles 
below  Springdale.  Two  gentlemen  passed  her  seat ;  and  in  the 
confusion,  a  few  words  reached  her  ear. 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  a  tall  man,  pausing  a  moment  as  the  plank 
was  thrown  ashore,  "I  tell  you  there'll  be  a  crash  soon,  and  he 
must  go  down !  I  saw  him  to-day,  dodging  in  and  out  the 
brokers'  offices  on  Wall  Street,  looking  like  a  hunted  man ;  and 

I  stood  close  beside  him  at  the  corner  of  C Street,  this 

afternoon,  on  my  way  to  the  boat  —  and,  be  assured,  he  never 
wears  that  anxious  look  for  nothing.  Mark  it,  sir,  —  in  less 
than  a  fortnight,  the  name  of  Augustus  Revere  will  be  cashiered, 
disgraced  among  the  merchants  of  New  York  !  But  I  go  ashore 
here  —  Good  night,  sir  ! " 

With  a  wild  cry,  Peace  sprang  up  and  caught  a  man's 
arm. 

"  Did  you  speak,  miss  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  boatmen. 

"  Oh,  sir  —  tell  me  —  Mr.  Revere  —  "  but,  weary,  confused, 
and  finding  her  mistake,  she  sank  back  to  her  seat.  Meantime 
the  boat  pushed  from  shore,  the  speaker's  companion  was  lost  in 
the  crowd  on  deck,  and  again  they  were  on  their  way  up  the 
river. 

But  the  key  was  furnished!     "Augustus   Revere" — those 


298        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

spoken  words  had  cleared  the  mists  from  her  brain.  Yes !  — 
those  features- —  those  eyes  —  thousands  of  times  had  she  gazed 
upon  them ;  and  Peace's  hand  convulsively  grasped  the  minia- 
ture she  wore.  She  had  stood  that  day  beside  her  father  ! 

"  Oh,  for  the  morrow !  the  morrow  ! "  she  murmured  with 
dilated  eyes,  as  the  steamer  rounded  to  the  landing  at  Spring- 
dale.  "  And,  with  the  morrow,  I  will  find  him  !  " 

As  good  old  John  handed  her  to  the  carriage,  and  they  rode 
home  by  the  light  of  the  rising  moon,  she  gazed  long  and  ear- 
nestly to  where  the  little  stone  cottage  perched  on  the  cliff  like 
an  eagle's  eyrie. 

No  dusky  raven  sat  brooding  on  the  crags ;  but,  unseen  in  the 
evening,  Hugh  Golding  —  he  who  had  left  the  steamer  two 
miles  down  the  river,  and  hastened  to  the  stable  of  a  little  coun- 
try inn  where  he  bestrode  his  horse  —  was  dashing  up  the  hill- 
side path  ;  and  Leafy  Earle  awaited  his  coming. 

Was  not  the  bird  of  prey  there,  still  ? 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

Seal  up  your  lips,  and  give  no  word  but  —  mum  ! 
The  business  asketh  silent  secrecy. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  bound  boy,  Chip,  went  slowly  up  the  dark  stair-cases 
until  he  gained  his  garret-chamber.  There  was  but  one  win- 
dow, small  and  uncurtained,  through  which  the  yellow  moonlight 
shone,  lighting  up  with  faithful  distinctness  the  slanting  ceiling 
and  rough,  unplastered  walls  —  the  bed  with  its  faded  blue  and 
white  coverlet  —  a  broken  chair,  a  pine  table  propped  up  in  a 
corner,  and  an  old  red  wooden  trunk  upon  which  the  boy  sat 
down. 

This  low  stifling  room  which  Hannah  had  allotted  him  for  a 
sleeping  apartment  had  been  partitioned  from  one  extremity  of 
the  long  garret,  years  before,  as  a  kind  of  store-room.  In  Pa- 
tience's day  it  had  been  filled  with  the  useless  articles  that 
accumulate  in  old  houses  —  old  chairs,  one  or  two  dilapidated 
spinning-wheels,  a  wooden  cradle,  and  the  little  trundle-bed  that 
had  been  used  in  the  family  for  a  generation,  but  had  been  put 
away  unoccupied  after  poor  lame  Katy  died ;  and  the  walls  were 
hung  with  bags  of  herbs,  dried  apples,  festoons  of  traced  corn 
and  scarlet  bell-peppers. 

Little  Peace,  in  rummaging  about  the  old  house,  discovered 
what  a  nice  "  play-room "  the  old  attic  would  make ;  so  Aunt 
Patience  brushed  away  the  cobwebs  from  the  window,  swept  up 
the  loose-boarded  floor,  and  the  child  brought  up  her  rag  dolls 
and  arranged  bits  of  broken  china,  and  acorn  cups  and  saucei-s, 

(299) 


300  PEACE  :     OR  .THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

on  an  old  box  in  the  corner,  —  and  on  rainy  days,  joined  by  a 
few  playmates,  there  were  such  "  grand  times  "  as  you  and  I, 
reader,  have  had  in  our  childhood,  playing  hide-and-seek  in  the 
garrets  of  old  country  houses,  or  "  keeping  house  "  on  a  minia- 
ture scale,  and  receiving  guests  with  a  brace  of  dolls  in  bright 
pink  frocks  and  embroidered  pantalettes  sitting  bolstered  against 
the  wall  to  assist  us  in  doing  "  the  honors."  We  have  a  most 
vivid  memory  of  these  "receptions,"  where  the  juvenile  aris- 
tocracy of  our  neighborhood  was  fully  represented.  Little  Hat- 
tie  Dean  was  favored  with  a  most  urgent  invitation,  because  her 
new  linen  apron,  with  ruffled  pockets,  was  our  especial  envy,  and 
we  had  resolved  upon  teasing  our  mother  for  a  similar  one ; 
Lottie  Gordon  was  the  admired  owner  of  a  new  blue  bead  chain  ; 
Georgy  Temple  —  a  juvenile  Adonis  with  red  cheeks,  curly 
hair,  bright  buttons,  and  the  snowiest  of  turned-down  linen  col- 
lars —  had  been  our  favored  "  beau  "  at  school,  bringing  us  '  early 
apples '  to  eat  at  recess,  and  throwing  little  billet  doux  across  the 
aisle  when  "  the  master's  "  eye  was  not  upon  him ;  Ned  Chan- 
dler was  the  best  speller  of  his  class,  and  policy  taught  us  to 
secure  the  good  opinion  of  our  rival ;  and  then,  little,  white, 
chubby  Mabel  Wynn,  with  dimpled  shoulders,  hands  like  soft 
tiny  snow-flakes,  under  whose  round  chin  we  used  to  hold  the 
yellow  king's  cup  to  see  "  if  she  liked  butter "  —  one  and  all, 
they  came  to  our  attic  "  drawing  rooms." 

But  this  has  little  to  do  with  our  poor  Chip.  Back  from  the 
digression. 

When  Hannah  Ward  became  mistress  of  the  Ridge  farm,  the 
house,  from  garret  to  cellar,  underwent  a  thorough  process  of 
"cleaning  up."  Then  she  discovered  that  the  garret  chamber 
wn>  quite  good  enough  for  "a  pauper,"  and  accordingly  removed 
him  thither  ;  and,  after  a  long  day's  scrubbing  in  the  little  room 
he  had  always  occupied,  shut  it  up  like  every  other  chamber  of 


PEACE  :  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  301 

the  farm-house,  to  the  cobwebs  and  darkness.  And  it  was  to 
this  stifling  garret  that  Chip  ascended  that  warm  June  night, 
seating  himself  wearily  on  the  old  trunk  that  contained  all  his 
worldly  treasures,  • —  a  suit  of  homespun  stuff  Patience  had  spun 
and  woven,  a  straw  hat,  and  thick  shoes  kept  for  Sunday  wear. 

Reuben's  and  Patience's  management  of  the  boy  had  been 
most  judicious.  Appealing  to  his  heart  —  for,  though  his  mental 
capacities  were  of  the  lowest  order,  he  possessed  warm  impulses 
and  strong  capabilities  of  attachment  —  they  had  brought  out 
the  good  of  his  nature,  and,  by  uniformly  mild  treatment,  had 
prevented  ebullitions  of  a  naturally  violent  will,  and  rendered 
unnecessary  those  wiles  of  cunning  and  stratagem  which  charac- 
terize those  hapless  ones  to  whom  their  Creator  has  denied  the 
higher  gifts  of  intellectual  power.  Patiently  bearing  with  his 
stupidity  in  some  pursuits,  and  encouraging  his  aptness  in  others 
—  giving  him  the  privilege  of  the  winter's  schooling,  where  he 
slowly  acquired  a  knowledge  of  reading  and  the  rudiments  of 
arithmetic  and  geography  —  teaching  him  to  repeat  passages  of 
Scripture  as  th^y  sat  by  the  evening  fire,  and,  above  all,  by  the 
silent  influence  of  example  teaching  him  the  beauties  of  truth 
and  kindness  —  under  such  monitions,  Chip  gradually  became 
something  better  than  the  poor,  half-witted  pauper  boy,  who  first 
sought  their  protection. 

If  God  has  seen  proper  to  withhold  from  some  of  his  children 
those  gifts  that  go  to  make  up  strong  and  noble  intellectual 
capacities,  has  He  not  hi  a  measure  compensated  by  dowering 
such  with  exquisitely  keen  perceptions  of  the  Beautiful  — 
whether  manifested  in  a  love  for  Nature's  wonderful  creations, 
or  forms  of  living,  breathing  loveliness  ?  —  thus  rendering  this 
intuition  a  fine  golden  thread  which  permeates  the  warp  and 
woof  of  their  being,  and  brightens  the  life  otherwise  dim  in 
shadows  ? 

26 


302  PE^CE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN^WILL. 

Chip's  passion  for  flowers  —  arranging  them,  as  he  would, 
into  bouquets,  with  an  exquisite  regard  to  harmony  of  color-  and 
shade  —  was  one  manifestation  of  this  love  for  the  Beautiful ; 
and  the  proximity  of  the  lovely  child,  Peace,  whose  blue  eyes 
and  golden  curls  made  the  sunshine  of  the  old  farm-house,  gave 
him  strange  delight. 

Thus  a  species  of  wild,  romantic,  reverential  worship  sprang 
up,  and  aroused  germs  of  thought  in  his  torpid  mind.  Love  is 
.not  only  an  Jiwakener,  but  a  Beautifier.  No  sluggard  loves 
truly :  no  dolt  possesses  such  a  capacity.  The  man  whose  intel- 
lectual and  social  dowries  are  right  royal,  cannot  lay  down  the 
treasures  of  a  strong,  rich  love  at  the  shrine  of  a  kindred  heart 
without  an  irradiation  from  his  inner  to  his  outward  being ; 
poorer  natures,  too,  have  their  share  in.  this  gift,  down  to  the 
lowest  churl ;  and  so,  in  this  strange  worship  which  the  bound 
boy  paid  to  Peace  —  "  the  angel "  of  his  vision  —  new  thoughts 
were  born  in  his  stagnant  brain,  and  from  his  outward  physical 
being  uncouthness  had  in  a  measure  departed. 

But  the  vision  faded  —  "  the  angel "  went  a\«ay  —  and  Han- 
nah Ward,  with  her  harsh  voice,  cold  eye  and  horny  hands,  shut 
down  a  great  black  wall  before  him.  No  kindness  —  no  cheer- 
ing words  of  praise  —  no  beautiful  face,  flitting  in  and  out  the 
old  farm-house  —  no  flowers  in  the  garden  —  no  chapters  read 
from  the  great  Bible  at  nightfall ;  only  the  unvarying  routine  of 
daily  toil  and  daily  censure  !  Chip  was  fast  retracing  his  steps 
into  that  world  of  dull,  blank  ignorance,  out  of  which  he  had 
been  emerging. 

That  night,  however,  as  he  sat  on  the  old  wooden  trunk  in  his 
garret-room,  an  idea  which  little  Tommy  Sandcrs's  words  had 
awakened  took  entire  possession  of  his  mind ;  and  for  the  first 
time  since  Reuben's  death,  Chip  thought  long  and  earnestly.  A 
link  of  Memory's  rusted  chain  had  been  polished  anew  by  the 


PEACE  !     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  303 

friction  of  that  thought.  It  flashed  over  him  —  what  he -had 
seen  in  passing  the  kitchen-window  the  night  of  Reuben's  death 
—  Hannah  Ward's  gaunt  figure  bending  over  the  table,  intently 
scanning  an  unfolded  paper  by  the  candle-light;  and,  linking 
that  memory  with  Tommy's  revelation  of  the  will,  Chip  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  his  hard  task-mistress  had  then,  and  there, 
committed  the  theft,  while  Reuben  lay  dead  before  her. 

Then  a  sudden  decision  was  born  in  his  brain  !  He  would 
straightway  find  Peace  —  recount  the  whole  story  of  her  wrongs 
• —  bring  her  back,  to  depose  the  usurper  of  her  rightful  home  at 
the  Ridge  ;  and,  so  pleased  was  he  with  this  plan,  that  the  bound 
boy  began  leaping  about  the  floor  with  extravagant  gestures  of 
delight. 

But  all  the  cunning  of  his  nature  returned.  He  checked  him- 
self—  cautiously  lifted  the  lid  of  his  trunk,  and  removed  the 
homespun  suit  in  which  he  arrayed  himself — laid  out  on  the 
bed  a  straw  hat  fantastically  draped  with  a  band  of  rusty  crape 
worn  as  '  mourning '  for  Reuben,  and  put  an  artificial  rose,  which 
had  once  adorned  Peace's  Sunday  Jbonnet,  in  a  button-hole  of  his 
short  jacket  —  tied  up  a  pair  of  yarn  socks  and  thick  shoes  in  his 
bright  silk  kerchief — waited  till  the  tramp  of  Hannah  Ward's 
thick  shoes  had  long  ceased  from  the  kitchen  —  and  when  the 
house  was  still,  crept  softly  down  the  stairway. 

Lingering  in  the  lower  entry  until  satisfied  that  Hannah  had 
sought  her  bed,  he  softly  opened  the  kitchen  door.  Stepping 
with  a  cat-like  tread  across  the  floor  in  the  bright  moonlight,  he 
was  suddenly  arrested  by  a  clinldng  sound  from  the  bed-room. 
Curiosity  waS  fully  aroused.  Cautiously  lifting  the  latch  of  the 
outer  door  and  laying  his  bundle  out  on  the  step,  he  crept  back 
and  crouched  stealthily  down,  applying  his  eyes  to  the  crack 
behind  the  door. 

Not  five  paces  distant,  in  a  low  chair  before  the  bureau  on 


304  PEACE  :     OK    THE    STOLEN  ^WILL. 

which  a  candle  was  burning,  sat  Hannah  with  a  small  trunk  in 
her  lap.  She  held  a  stocking  into  which  she  dropped  coin  after 
coin  with  the  clinking  sound  that  had  arrested  Chip  j  a  gloating, 
greedy  look  in  her  twinkling  black  eyes. 

Chip  crouched  down  in  fascination,  breathlessly  peering 
through  the  aperture.  Then,  looking  upon  the  shining  dollars, 
and  the  miserly  woman  with  that  hungry  gaze  in  her  cold  eyes, 
an  emotion  of  hate  passed  through  his  mind. 

"  It  isn't  hers  —  it  all  belongs  to  Peace !  —  she  stole  it ! "  he 
muttered  softly  between  his  clenched  teeth.  A  wild,  desperate 
idea  gleamed  through  his  brain.  His  hand  clutched  a  new, 
sharp  jack-knife  in  the  depths  of  his  pocket.  "  I  hate  her !  I 
might  kill  her !  I  would  take  all  "that  money  and  carry  it  to 
Peace  !  "  —  and  his  eyes  glittered  with  a  fierce,  almost  insane 
light.  His  lips  closed  tightly  —  his  tanned  hand  brought  up  the 
knife,  and  with  his  forefinger  upon  the  blade-spring,  he  gathered 
himself  to  his  feet  and  prepared  to  spring  into  the  bed-room. 

But  the  touch  of  a  cold  hand  seemed  to  fall  upon  his  head  — 
a  murmuring  sound  rang  through  his  ears  —  he  heard  Patience 
reading  from  the  old  Bible  —  and  the  Commandment,  "  Thou 
shalt  not  kill,"  clove  like  lightning  into  his  excited  brain.  The 
gleam  of  hard,  cunning  desperation  faded  from  his  eyes  —  his 

fingers  relaxed  their  hold  upon  the  knife,  which  fell  back  into 

% 
his  pocket  again  —  and  the  bound  boy  sunkgj^rn  upon  his  knees 

once  more. 

And  Hannah  went  on  counting  the  money;  and.  at  length, 
the  last  dollar  deposited  in  the  Stocking,  slu'  tif>d  it  up  securely 
and  laid  it  back  into  the  trunk.  Pausing  a  moment,  with  the 
upraised  lid  in  her  hand,  she  muttered  something  which  Chip 
held  his  breath  to  hear. 

"  Mine  !  yes,  all  mine  ! "  she  said  exultingly.  "  Nobody  to 
touch  a  dollar  on't  but  me  !  And  why  shouldn't  I  take  comfort 


PEACJS  :    OR    TIIE    STOLEN    WILL.  305 

in  countin'  it  over  ?  It's  no  more'n  right  —  it  belongs  to  me  ! 
Peace  come  into  the  family,  and  had  her  bringin'  up,  and 
schoolin' — and  that's  what  Mary  Halpine's  child  never  ought  to 
a'  had  !  Reub.  —  poor  fool !  to  go  nigh  about  crazy  after  such 
a  huzzy  !  *  He  meant  to  leave  every  cent  o'  property  and  inch 
o'  land  to  Peace  !  —  but  —  ha,  ha,  ha  !  —  Hannah  Ward  was  a 
little  too  sharp  for  him  there  !  This,  tells  the  story  —  ha,  ha ! " 

—  and  with  a  low  chuckling,  exulting  laugh,  she  laid  back  the 
lid  of  the  trunk  and  took  up  a  folded  paper. 

Chip  started  up,  then  sunk  down  again. 

"  Yes,  this  tells  the  story  !  Nobody  saw  me  —  nobody  knows 
it  to  this  day  —  not  a  soul !  "  —  but,  spite  of  her  security,  she 
gave  a  furtive  glance  around,  peering  into  the  dark  corners. 
"  Nobody  knows  it  —  old  Squire  Barton  died  years  ago  —  the 
witnesses  are  dead,  too  —  and  the  will  never  had  a  copy  — 
nobody  knows  it.  I  might  burn  it,"  —  and  for  a  moment  she 
glanced  toward  the  candle.  "  I  might  a'  done  it  then  —  but  I 
won't,  because  I  can  say  with  a  clear  conscience,  I  never 
'destroyed  the  will  —  ha,  ha  !  —  I  never  destroyed  it !  "  —  and 
again  her  low  laugh  rang  through  the  room.  "  But  I  can  lock 
it  up  here  —  and  now  let  anybody  find  it,  if  they  can,  that's  all !  " 

—  and  the  lid  was  closed,  the  trunk  locked  with  a  hard,  vigorous 
snap  of  the  key,  which  she  dropped  into  the  depths  of  the  capa- 
cious pocket  she  always  wore  over  her  short  gown ;  and  noise- 
lessly and  swiftly  Chip  crept  across  the  kitchen-floor  and  stole 
out  into  the  open  air. 

An  hour  after,  he  rose  from  the  dark  shadows  of  a  large  lilac 
tree  near  the  garden  fence,  and  crept  toward  the  house.  Climb- 
ing in  at  an  open  window  of  the  shed  —  for  Hannah  had  come 
out  and  barred  the  kitchen  door  —  he  stole  into  the  kitchen  and 
approached  the  bed-room,  from  whence  a  deep,  regular  breath- 
ing told  that  Hannah  slept  soundly. 

26* 


306  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

Three  minutes  after,  as  Chip  emerged  from  the  shed-window, 
pausing  a  moment  to  gatEer  up  his  bundle  from  the  foot  of  the 
lilac  tree,  Bruno  came  sleepily  from  the  yard,  rubbing  his  nose 
against  his  master's  hand.  "  Go  lay  down,  sir  !  "  said  the  lad  in 
a  whisper ;  and  the  dog  obeyed.  Chip  leaped  the  road  wall, 
and  as  he  ran  rapidly  down  the  highway,  a  laugh  of  wild  glee 
broke  on  the  night  air. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

"  Ever  circling  higher, 
Coil  the  red  flames  —  the  maddened,  hungry  fire  !  " 

IT  was  late  at  night  ere  Peace  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow. 
She  was  not  physically  weary.  The  events  of  that  day,  creating 
the  wildest  mental  excitement,  banished  sleep  from  her  eyelids. 

Sitting  in  the  silence  of  her  chamber  while  the  night  lay  fair 
over  the  earth  without,  with  prophet  eyes  she  sought  to  read  her 
future.  Oh,  could  she  but  dash  aside  the  blinding  veil,  and 
know  if  indeed  she  were  to  be  clasped  in  a  parent's  arms !  Was 
the  mystery  that  enshrouded  her  indeed  to  be  made  plain,  and 
she  no  more  to  grope  blindly  in  the  chill  darkness  of  her  lonely, 
unloved  life  ?  Oh,  if  such  happiness  should  be  for  her !  —  and 
with  eager  parted  lips,  and  crimsoned  cheeks,  she  suffered  her 
thoughts  to  stray  at  their  own  sweet  will. 

Then  her  mood  changed. 

"  Oh,  if  it  be  all  a  mistake  !  If  he,  whose  presence  I  must 
seek  to-morrow,  be  not  my  father !  —  but  no  !  Nature's  instincts 
are  too  strong !  —  my  heart  tells  me  that,  at  last,  I  have  found 
him !  But  there  is  another  fear  still ! "  —  and  a  dark  dread 
stole  athwart  her  mind,  —  "  he  may  deny  me  !  Rich,  haughty, 
elevated  in  social  rank,  perhaps  with  wife  and  children  around 
him,  will  he  own  the  child  of  his  passionate  youth  ?  Alas  !  alas  ! 
he  may  send  me  from  his  door,  a  very  outcast  —  for,  oh,  if  he 
so  wronged  my  gentle,  beautiful  mother,  how  can  he  care  for  the 
child  ?  God  help  me  !  Peace,  Peace,  —  why  did  they  call  me 
that?  Why  did  they  not,  instead,  name  me  Marah  —  bitter- 

(307) 


308        PEACE:  ou  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

ness  ?  Alas !  it  was  not  enough  that  one  hoarded  hope  should 
die  !  "  —  and  her  hands  were  locked  tighter  over  her  heart  — 
"  but  now  come  these  maddening  forebodings !  I  am  fated ! 
fated  to  disgrace,  to  misery  !  "  —  and  in  despair  she  sank  sobbing 
to  her  knees. 

The  old  Dutch  clock  on  the  staircase  chimed  twelve. 

"  Only  midnight !  Will  the  morrow  never  come  ?  It  seems 
a  century  since  I  met  him ! "  moaned  the  kneeler.  "  To- 
morrow !  to-morrow  !  it  bears  my  fate  in  its  bosom  !  " 

After  a  little  she  grew  calmer.  Robing  herself  for  the  night, 
she  knelt  again  and  murmured  a  calmer  prayer,  whose  burthen 
was,  "  Let  me  no  more  go  lonely  in  this  cold,  cold  world ! 
Heavenly  Parent,  grant  me  my  earthly  father ! "  —  and  then 
she  lay  down  -on  the  cool  white  pillows ;  and  the  sweet  eyes 
grew  misty  with  sleep,  and  the  angel  who  keeps  watch  and  ward 
over  the  blessed  realms  of  Dreamland  sent  a  messenger  to  guide 
her  over  its  portals. 

And  walking  there  —  where  you  and  I,  reader  mine,  have 
wandered  oft  in  slumber,  living  such  brief  golden  lives  —  where 
moments  seem  lengthened  years,  enriched  with  glorious  visions 
and  experiences  of  exquisite  happiness  —  where  we  gather  up 
again  every  joy  that  has  faded  from  our  waking  lives,  and  bathe 
anew  in  the  splendor  of  their  ineffable  glory  —  where  we  meet 
the  loved  and  lost,  not  as  we  saw  them  last,  with  dulled  eye  and 
sharpened  features  under  the  coffin-lid,  but  in  all  the  lusty  prime 
and  delicate  loveliness  of  vigor  and  youth  —  there,  in  that  won- 
drous Dreamland  —  alas !  that  its  visions  a"re  but  mirages,  and 
its  forms  but  impalpable  shadows !  —  there  came,  to  Peace,  a 
shadowy  form,  laying  white  spirit-hands  on  the  lone  wanderer's 
brow,  and  whispering,  with  the  soft  mother-tone  in  her  voice, 
"  Peace  is  for  thee,  my  daughter ! " 

From  the  exceeding  bliss  of  such  a  realm,  how  tame  and 


PEACE  :  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  309 

pnx-aic  the  return  to  waking  life  !  The  splendid  visions  fade 
into  nothingness ;  the  dark  mists  of  Actuality  enfold  us  again, 
through  which,  like  ships  meeting  on  a  twilight  sea,  Life,  with 
its  forms  of  approaching  reality,  looms  up  hugely  —  and  we 
shrink,  lest  we  go  down  in  the  shock  of  the  contact.  Ah,  yes  ! 
Very  painful  is  the  transition  from  the  fairy  land  of  dreams  to 
our  dull,  cold  earth  again  ! 

It  was  in  the  thick  darkness  of  those  hours  immediately  pre- 
ceding the  dawn,  that  Peace  turned  drowsily  upon  her  pillow 
with  a  suffocating  sensation  in  her  throat.  There  was  a  moan- 
ing, rushing  sound,  like  a  strong  wind ;  and  a  dashing  and  crack- 
ing, as  of  rain  or  hailstones  against  the  windows. 

A  few  moments  passed,  then  came  once  more  that  suffocation 
—  hot  gusty  breaths  of  air,  and  a  louder  rushing,  moaning, 
crackling !  Peace  awoke  —  gasped  for  breath  —  sprang  upright 
on  her  pillow  —  and  leaped  with  a  loud  shriek  to  the  floor.  Red 
tongues  were  hissing  through  the  open  windows  —  the  room  was 
lurid  with  flame ! 

The  thought  of  self-preservation  came  uppermost.  Hastily 
flinging  a  garment  about  her,  she  fled  toward  the  door.  In  the 
gallery  which  led  circuitously  toward  the  old-fashioned  winding 
staircase,  the  smoke  was  thick  and  stifling ;  but  she  held  her 
breath,  feeling  her  way  along  the  walls,  until  her  hand  was  on 
the  banister  and  her  foot  on  the  stair.  A  turn  in  the  winding 
flight  brought  up  to  her  an  intolerably  stifling  heat,  and  rolling 
out  from  the  rear  portion  of  the  lower  hall  came  heavy  masses 
of  smoke  —  dull  red  tongues  of  flame  cleaving  their  murky  folds. 
The  fire  had  evidently  originated  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 
was  on  its  onward  march ;  and  with  a  sudden  leap,  Peace  drew 
her  garments  about  her  and  bounded  down  the  staircase.  With 
giant  strength  she  lifted  the  ponderous  iron  bar  from  the  oaken 
door,  and  flung  it  wide  open. 


310  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

Half-stifled,  she  sank  upon  the  threshold  ;  but  when  the  pure 
night  air  had  revived  her  and  the  confusion  floated  from  her 
brain,  Peace  started  up.  The  flames  leaped  and  crackled  be- 
hind —  far  and  wide  the  red  glare  gleamed  over  the  valley  — 
but  not  a  voice,  save  hissing,  crackling  tongues  of  fire,  clove  the 
stillness  of  the  night. 

She,  alone,  was  safe  !  The  sleepers  there  —  the  aged  man, 
the  helpless  women,  the  children,  little  Cora  —  where  were 
they  ?  Good  God !  must  they  perish,  and  never  a  finger  be 
lifted  to  save  them  ?  She  turned  back. 

But  the  way  was  cut  off.  With  lightning  rapidity  the  flames 
had  overspread  the  oaken  panelling  of.  the  hall,  and  now  coiled 
through  and  around  the  carved  banisters  of  the  staircase. 

"  Oh,  "will  no  one  come  to  help  me  save  them  ?  Will  no  one 
ever  come  ?  "  and  she  uttered  shriek  after  shriek  of  frenzied 
agony,  then  cowered  down  on  the  threshold  —  driven  further 
and  further  down  the  broad  steps  by  the  stifling  heat. 

At  that  moment  a  cry  came  up  from  the  valley.  "  Fire  !  fire  ! 
FIRE  !  "  echoed  on  the  night  —  coming  nearer  and  nearer  ;  then 
mingled  the  feebler  shouts  of  John  Winslow,  dragging  his  terri- 
fied wife  through  the  blinding  smoke. 

"  God  help  us ! "  exclaimed  the  old  housekeeper,  pale  with 
terror,  sinking  down  beside  Peace  —  "Oh,  why  can't  people 
come  faster  ?  " 

Peace  started  up.  She  would  go  to  meet  them  —  she  would 
urge  them  onward  —  and  she  staggered  forward  with  outstretched 
hands  ;  but,  overcome  by  exhaustion,  fell  prone  in  the  gravelled 
walk  before  the  mansion.  When  she  recovered  her  conscious- 
ness, she  gazed  dimly,  as  one  in  a  dream,  on  a  scene  of  terror. 
A  dense  crowd  were  flitting  to  and  fro,  removing  furniture  from 
the  burning  house ;  firemen  were  adjusting  hose  and  commencing 
to  play ;  while  the  mad  flames,  leaping  high  to  the  clouds,  cast 
their  red  light  far  and  wide  over  the  country. 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        311 

Then  she  faintly  turned  her  head.  She  lay  on  a  smooth, 
grassy  lawn  whither  some  one  had  borne  her ;  while  close  beside 
her,  speechless  and  palsied  with  fear,  sat  old  Dame  Winslow ; 
and  Alexis  and  Victorine  huddled  close,  grasping  her  gown  and 
crying  with  affright.  Half-comprehending  this  scene  of  confu- 
sion, Peace  languidly  rose  to  her  feet.  The  first  object  on 
which  her  eye  fell,  was  %the  portrait  of  the  once  mistress  of  these 
domains,  lying  topmost  on  a  heap  of  carpets,  sofas,  antique  cabi- 
nets, chairs,  silver  ware  and  pictures,  thrown  pell-mell  together. 

In  an  instant  Peace  comprehended  all.  They  had  rescued 
the  pictured  face  of  Lucien  Palfrey's  dead  wife ;  —  had  they 
saved  his  child  ? 

"  Where  is  Cor.fi  ?  "  she  cried  wildly. 

But  the  old  housekeeper,  mute  with  fear,  only  sat  swaying 
herself  to  and  fro ;  and  the  children  answered  but  with  fresh 
sobs. 

In  an  instant  Peace  stood  among  the  crowd.  "  Go  —  some 
of  you  —  go  !  "  and  sh^|  grasped  men's  arms  —  "  Save  them  — 
Mr.  Palfrey's  child,  and  old  Nurse  Allen  !  Go  !  " 

"  Where  are  they  ?  "  asked  several  voices. 

"  In  the  western  wing  —  the  rear  chamber.  Oh  hasten  !  " 
and  she  kneltj  with  clasped  hands. 

There  was  a  pause  —  it  seemed  a  century  to  the  excited  girl. 
Men  gazed  into  one  another's  faces,  then  upon  the  pile  en- 
wrapped in  flame  ;  they  trembled  ;  but  not  a  foot  stirred. 

"  Why  do  you  wait  ?  You  have  old  mothers  —  some  of  you 
—  and  little  ones.  If  you  are  men,  save  them  !  "  and  rising  to 
her  feet,  standing  there  in  the  red  glare,  the  folds  of  her  white 
robe  draping  her  slender  form,  and  waves  of  rippling  hair  sweep- 
ing her  shoulders,  she  seemed  some  vestal  priestess  urging  her 
-votaries  to  the  sacrifice. 

Men's  cheeks  grew  paler  yet  —  but  no  foot  stirred.     The  love 


312        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

of  life  was  strong,  and  it  seemed  certain  death  to  rush  into  the 
jaws  of  the  hungry  fire. 

"  Cowards  !  cravens  !  all !  Cora,  1  will  save,  or  perish  with 
you !  "  and  with  a  sudden  bound  Peace  dashed  up  the  broad 
steps  and  disappeared  amid  the  blinding  smoke. 

"  Good  God  !  she  will  never  come  out  again !  We  were 
cowards  !  Let  us  try  to  save  her  !  "  saiji  a  stout  young  farmer 
from  the  crowd,  and  instantly  three  or  four  dashed  over  the 
threshold. 

How  Peace  gained  the  room  occupied  by  Nurse  Allen  and 
her  charge  she  never  knew ;  it  was  enough  that,  unscathed, 
unharmed  by  the  terrible  fire,  she  was  there.  Closing  the  door 
behind  her,  she  sunk  down.  The  flames  had  not  yet  penetrated 
the  chamber ;  but  she  heard  a  crackling  along  the  panelled 
passages,  —  and  the  room  was  lurid  with  light  streaming  in 
through  the  diamond-paned  windows. 

"  Aunt  Allen  !  Cora  !  "  she  cried  faintly. 

A  low  moan  was  the  only  reply  fron|gthe  old  lady  with  head 
bowed  on  the  crib-side.  A  shake  aroused  Nurse  Allen. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Peace  !— but  the  fire,  the  terrible  fire  !  I  couldn't 
take  my  darling  through  it,  and  so  we  must  all  die  here  !  No- 
body will  come  !  "  and  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  No  !  no  !  we  must  escape  !  —  we  can  !  Come,  come  !  I 
will  open  the  windows,  and  shout.  They  can  raise  a  ladder !  " 
and  Peace  flung  up  the  sash. 

With  a  groan  she  shrank  back.  That  avenue  was  cut  off! 
A  pile  of  lumber  that  lay  under  the  window,  gathered  for  future 
repairs  on  the  mansion,  had  been  fired  by  cinders  whirled  from 
the  flames ;  and  along  a  grape-vine  embowering  the  whole 
western  side  of  the  wing  red  tongues  coiled  rapidly.  With  a 
groan,  Peace  dropped  the  sash ;  while  the  fire  leaped  upward 
till  the  glass  crackled  and  snapped,  then,  enwreathing  the 


PEACE  :    OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  313 

heavily  carved  window-mullions,  hissed  aloud  as  if  in  token 
of  their  victory. 

Beset  on  every  side  by  the  fierce  fire-fiend,  at  the  windows, 
at  the  door,  the  brave  girl's  heart  failed  ;  —  they  must  perish,  — 
but  they  would  die  together ;  —  and  creeping  close  to  the  crib 
where  the  sleeping  child  lay,  she  slid  her  scorched  and  blistered 
hands  into  Nurse  Allen's  withered  ones,  and,  bowing  her  head 
on  her  shoulder,  burst  into  tears. 

That  very  appeal  —  so  mute,  so  helpless,  aroused  the  old 
lady.  • 

"  Poor  young  thing !  "  and  she  pressed  her  lips  to  Peace's 
forehead  —  "  poor  dear  girl !  You  can't  save  us,  then  !  Oh,  if 
Mr.  Lucien  was.only  here  !  But  there,  don't  take  on  so,  dear  ! 
Perhaps  we  can  get  out.  Come,  come  !  we  mustn't  stay  here  to 
die  !  Do  you  hear,  child  ?  " 

"No  —  no!"  groaned  Peace.  "We  cannot  escape!  Don't 
you  see  —  the  terrible  fire  ?  —  everywhere,  everywhere  !  Aunt 
Allen,  we  must  perish  here ! "  and  convulsive  shudders  ran 
through  her  frame. 

"  Die  here  !  perish  here  ! "  repeated  the  old  lady  mechani- 
cally —  "  No  !  no  !  child,  so  young,  so  beautiful !  and  my  dar- 
ling ?  See,  how  like  an  angel  she  sleeps  —  and  not  a  soul 
comes  to  save  her !  —  Oh,  Peace  —  don't  stay  for  a  poor  old 
woman  like  me,  but  try  to  get  Cora  away  !  Oh,  you  are  young 
and  strong  -•-  save  my  baby,  for  her  father's  sake  !  "  and  she 
shook  Peace's  arm  franticly. 

That  appeal  roused  the  despairing  girl.  For  his  sake  —  for 
Lucien  Palfrey's  sake,  she  would  save  his  child,  or  perish  ;  and 
then  came  a  thought  of  her  own  father.  That  was  the  most 
powerful  stimulus.  In  an  instant  she  was  calm  ;  and  with  most 
admirable  prudence  calculated  her  chances  of  escape.  The 
flooring  had  not  yet  fallen,  nor  the  staircase,  though  the  walls 

27 


314  PEACE:   OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

were  burning.  She  must  brave  it.  Seizing  a  couple  of  towels, 
she  dipped  them  into  the  water-ewer  and  wrung  them  slightly. 
"  Bind  one  about  your  mouth,"  she  said  to  Nurse  Allen,  "it  will 
prevent  suffocation,"  then,  wrapping  Cora  in  a  blanket,  cried. 
"  Now !  now !  here  !  your  hand  !  "  and  threw  open  the  door. 

But  the  old  lady  sank  down.  "  No  —  no  !  I'm  a  poor  use- 
less old  creetur  —  and  shall  only  be  a  drag  on  you.  Maybe  the 
good  Lord'll  send  somebody  after  me  —  if  He  don't,  I  can  die 
here.  I'm  almost  worn  out  —  and  it  don't  matter  much.  —  You 
are  young  and  strong  —  you  stand  a  chance  to  get  out.  There, 
let  me  kiss  my  baby  once  more  "  —  and  she  bent  her  withered 
lips  to  the  soft  coral  mouth  of  the  sleeper,  then  folded  the 
blanket  over  her  head  —  "there,  go  now!  The  Lord'll  help 
you  !  Tell  Mr.  Lucien " 

"Aunt  Allen,  God  can  save  us  all!  "  said  Peace  with  sudden 
inspiration.  "  I  will  «ot  stir  one  step  without  you.  Shall  we 
stay  here  and  burn  to  death  —  or  will  you  come  ?  There  — 
that  is  right  —  hold  fast  —  don't  let  go  my  arm  —  remember !  " 
and  she  crossed  the  threshold ;  and,  clasping  little  Cora  to  her 
breast  with  one  arm,  with  her  free  hand  felt  her  way  along 
the  galleries,  while  Nurse  Allen's  clutch  was  firm  about  her 
waist. 

On,  on,  she  hastened,  the  flames  close  at  her  side,  their  hot 
tongues  licking  her  outstretched  hands.  At  last  Cora  awoke, 
and  struggled  to  free  herself  from  the  smothering  folds  of  the 
blanket.  Withdrawing  her  outstretched  hands  from  the  contact 
of  the  wall  to  clasp  the  child  closer,  and  still  keeping  on  her 
perilous  way,  Peace  suddenly  encountered  an  open  door  swung 
outward  into  the  gallery.  Confused  and  almost  stunned  by  the 
blow,  and  murmuring  faintly,  "  God  help  us  !  I  can  go  no  fur- 
ther !  "  she  sank,  with  a  rushing,  roaring  sound,  as  of  a  thousand 
waters,  in  her  ears. 


PEACE  :    OB   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  315 

In  her  last  moment  of  consciousness  one  palpable  idea  stirred 
the  surface  of  her  darkening  brain  —  "I  am  dying  !  "  —  and 
three  faces,  slowly  revolving  and  blending  like  the  wreathing 
smoke-folds,  floated  mistily  before  her  vision  —  two,  the  pictured 
countenances  on  the  miniature,  and  Lucien  Palfrey's. 

Shifting,  wreathing,  twining,  blending,  they  flitted  athwart 
her  vision  ;  then  a  dark,  blank,  black  wall  shut  down  before  her. 
All  senses  were  submerged  into  that  of  hearing ;  she  listened  to 
many  voices  —  even  a  great  multitude ;  again  that  wild  rush, 
as  of  a  mighty  waterfall,  rose  louder  and  higher,  then  died  into 
faintest  rippling  cadences ;  and,  while  softest  music-strains  — 
the  chiming  of  silver  bells,  and  the  notes  of  fairy  horns,  blended 
in  mellowest  waves  of  sound,  she  seemed  sinking,  sinking,  into 
grateful,  cooling  waters,  fathoms  deep  away  ! 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

"  Secure  in  undiscovered  crime, 

The  callous  soul  grows  bold  at  length. 
Stern  Justice  sometimes  bides  her  time, 
But  strikes  at  last  with  double  strength." 

IT  was  a  wild,  wet,  starless  night  —  the  last  of  the  dying 
month  of  June.  For  three  days  the  rain  had  been  incessant  — 
one  of  those  chill  storms  that  sometimes  seem  to  blow  from  out 
the  departed  spring,  bringing  their  cold  winds  and  sullen  rains 
into  the  heart  of  the  summer.  In  the  country,  the  earth  was 
water-soaked,  and  vegetation  grew  rank  and  luxuriant ;  grass 
waved  in  tangled,  sodden  masses ;  clover-blossoms  were  matted 
together ;  white  rose-petals  lay  limp  and  torn  on  the  earth ; 
birds  huddled  together,  shivering ;  kine  stood  knee-deep  in  the 
marshes  ;  tall  elms  swayed  their  dripping  branches  to  and  fro  ; 
melancholy,  ancient  willows  drooped  their  ragged  foliage  all 
along  the  country  roadsides  ;  children  waded  through  pools  in 
the  highway  ;  and  the  farmers  came  out,  and,  looking  anxiously 
toward  the  sullen  west,  wondered  when  it  would  "  fair  off." 

City  dwellers,  too,  wearied  of  the  long  rain.  For  three  days 
the  streets  had  been  untrodden  save  by  eager  business  men,  or 
that  strata  of  city  population,  the  children  of  poverty,  who  seem 
oblivious  to  change  of  wind  or  weather.  By  night,  the  glare  of 
gas  only  lighted  black,  slimy  pavements,  almost  deserted  save  by 
the  watchmen  on  their  rounds. 

At  midnight,  alone  in  his  room,  at  a  small  table  drawn  up 
before  the  coal  fire  which  the  dampness  of  the  atmosphere  ren- 
dered grateful,  sat  the  man  of  evil  —  Hugh  Golding.  An  air 
1316) 


PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        317 

of  the  greatest  seclusion  and  quiet  pervaded  the  apartment. 
Heavy  curtains  fell  over  the  windows ;  the  thick  carpet  gave  no 
echo  ;  the  door  was  double  locked ;  and,  save  a  slight  metallic 
ring,  as  of  the  rasping  or  filing  of  steel,  from  the  table  where 
Golding  sat,  no  sound  broke  the  stillness.  Upon  the  table  where 
a  large  lamp  with  three  burners  shed  down  a  strong  glare,  lay  a 
buckskin  case  and  several  tiny  instruments  of  steel,  an  impres- 
sion of  a  key  in  wax,  a  bunch  of  keys,  and  a  small,  crumpled  bit 
of  paper  —  evidently  a  portion  of  a  receipt  or  bill  of  sale,  with 
the  signature  torn  across. 

Golding  was  busily  at  work  upon  a  small  key  —  alternately 
filing  it  with  the  greatest  nicety  of  touch,  then  fitting  it  to  the 
wax  impression,  and  holding  it  up  between  his  eyes  and  the 
strong  light,  as  if  to  detect  the  slightest  flaw  in  his  workmanship. 
For  half  an  hour  he  sat  thus  at  his  task  ;  and  then,  applying  it 
once  again  to  the  wax,  an  exultant  exclamation  proclaimed  his 
success.  Then,  placing  the  key  and  the  bit  of  torn  paper  in  his 
pocket-book,  returning  the  tiny  files  and  saws  to  their  case, 
bringing  a  cloak  from  the  closet  in  the  pocket  of  which  he  laid 
the  bunch  of  keys  with  the  buckskin  pouch,  throwing  the  wax 
impression  into  the  burning  grate,  and  carefully  brushing  every 
particle  of  steel-dust  from  the  table,  he  turned  down  the  lamp- 
shade, then  rapidly  walked  the  floor.  A  smile  of  triumph  sat  on 
his  curling  lip. 

In  his  life,  Hugh  Golding  had  wrought  much  evil,  and  always 
with  the  impunity  of  success.  The  code  of  the  world's  laws  had 
not  reached  him  yet. 

"There  is  no  such  word  as  fail/"  he  cried  exultingly,  pacing 
the  carpet.  "  Hugh  Golding  has  not  lived  forty  years,  to  plot 
any  undertaking  without  the  certainty  of  success  ! " 

And  this  was,  in  a  measure,  true.  Long  journeys  in  the 
paths  of  evil  had  made  him  bold,  but  they  had  rendered  him 

27* 


318        PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

none  the  less  cautious.  Cunning,  fiendish  cunning,  was  the  true 
exponent  of  his  nature. 

"  Triumph  at  last !  "  he  whispered  exultingly  —  "a  royal  tri- 
umph !  —  at  one  dash  to  free  myself  from  this  cursed  beggary  — 
for  it  is  little  better,  these  uncertain  winnings  at  the  gaming 
table  —  then,  gaining  a  princely  fortune,  slip  the  halter  from  my 
own  neck  to  fasten  i*^  around  Revere's  !  Yes,  Revere  !  --when 
Julie  Courtney  became  your  wife,  I  vowed  revenge  —  and  now 
the  hour  has  come  !  No  man  steps  between  me  and  my  pur- 
poses, and  escapes  me.  But  I  have  no  time  to  idle  here.  Half- 
past  twelve  !  "  —  and  he  drew  forth  his  jewelled  lever,  then  put 
aside  the  heavy  curtain  and  glanced  down  into  the  street  —  "and 
it  is  dark  as  Erebus,  too !  Just  the  night  —  everything  con- 
spires to  favor  me  —  the  Charlies  will  be  snugly  boxed  in  this 
storm  !  Now,  Hugh  Golding/'  —  and  he  paused  before  a  mir- 
ror—  "now,  nerves  of  iron  and  a  will  of  steel,  and  three  hours 
hence  you  hold  your  fortune  in  your  own  hand  ;  and  the  man  you 
hate  is  doomed  !  " 

Then  he  brought  out  a  dark  slouched  hat  from  an  inner  dress- 
ing closet.  This,  with  the  ample  cloak  under  which  he  con- 
cealed a  small  dark  lantern,  completed  his  disguise ;  and  noise- 
lessly unlocking  his  door  and  re-locking  it  on  the  outside,  he 
glided  along  the  quiet,  dimly  lighted  galleries  of  the  hotel,  and 
slipped  stealthily  out,  unencountered,  into  the  dark,  rainy  night.' 

When  the  city  clocks  struck  tliree,  the  merchant  Revere  stole 
like  a  guilty  man  into  the  hall  of  his  mansion.  All  was  dark, 
for  the  gas  had  been  turned  down  and  the  porter  had  sought  his 
bed  long  before ;  and,  amid  the  thick  gloom  and  the  noise  of 
plashing  rain  upon  the  marble  steps,  the  merchant  heard  not  the 
stealthy  tread  of  feet  close  behind  his  own,  nor  saw  the  form 
that  followed  him  over  the  threshold  and  into  the  dimly  lighk-d 


PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        319 

library,  secreting  itself  among  the  voluminous  curtains  of  a  deep 
bay  windoAV.  Lighting  a  waxen  taper  in  the  mantel  candelabra, 
Revere  threw  his  cloak  dripping  with  rain,  on  a  sota,  drew  on  a 
rich  dressing-gown,  then  flung  himself  into  a  large  arm-chair 
before  the  grate,  whence  the  fire  smouldered. 

His  face  was  fearfully  wild  and  haggard^  dark  circles  rimmed 
his  eyes  ;  Despair  was  gnawing  at  his  heart-strings.  The  preci- 
pice on  which  for  the  past  few  months  he  had  stood,  was  crum- 
bling beneath  his  feet ;  in  vain  he  stretched  out  his  hands  for  a 
shrub  whereat  he  might  grasp  to  stay  his  fall  —  for,  that  ifight, 
he  had  thrown  his  last  dollar  at  the  gaming  table.  He  was 
ruined !  and  the  morrow  would  behold  him  disgraced !  Men 
would  point  at  him  and  say,  "  Behold  the  gambler !  Behold  the 
bankrupt !  "  Such  a  morrow  was  in  store  for  him ;  and  the 
good  name  which  no  man  resigns  without  a  pang,  and  which  in 
that  hour  seemed  far  more  precious  to  the  ruined  merchant  than 
aught  else  on  earth  —  that  name  must  go  down  forever ! 

"  Ruined  !  ruined  ! "  —  and  he  smote  his  forehead.  "  It  has 
come  to  this  at  last  !  I  have  battled  the  tide  like  a  drowning 
man,  but  must  sink  !  Oh,  Gaming !  Gaming !  Fiend  that  sat 
there  night  after  night,  tempting  me  with  blood-red  wine,  and 
beckoning  me  on  with  golden  fingers  to  my  ruin  !  Oh,  devil, 
are  you  satisfied  now  ?  Can  wine  drown  memory  ?  —  can  it 
bring  forgetfulness  ? "  —  and  pouring  a  brimming  goblet,  he 
drank  it  off  in  great  gulps.  Then  he  leaned  his  elbows  on  the 
table,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  To-morrow  !  to-morrow  !  "  he  shuddered ;  then,  after  a  long 
pause,  he  lifted  his  countenance,  deadly  pale,  and  said  slowly, 
"  But  why  need  that  morrow  ever  dawn  for  me  ?  This  will  free 
me ! "  —  and  he  drew  forth  a  dark  substance  from  his  vest 
pocket.  "  It  has  brought  me  forgetfulness  — -  it  can  bring  me  a 
longer,  an  eternal  sleep!  JSternal?  —  do  I  believe  that?  But 


320  PEACE:   OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

pshaw  !  —  if  there  is  a  future,  can  it  be  worse  for  me  than  the 
fate  buried  in  the  coming  morrow  ?  I  would  dare  death  —  but 
I  will  not  meet  any  man's  scorn  !  They  shall  not  throw  my  dis- 
grace in  my  teeth !  This  will  forestall  my  fate !  A  double 
dose  —  a  benumbing  torpor  —  a  deathly,  lethargy  —  and  it  is 
over  !  No  disgrace^ —  no  scorn  —  no  pity  !  By  Heaven  !  I 

could  not  bear  that  —  I  will  have  no  man's  d d  pity ! 

Death  —  death  !  —  it  is  at  best  but  a  leap  in  the  dark,  and  he  is 
a  coward  who  hesitates  to  take  it !  Why  should  I  ?  —  what 
matters  it,  a  few  years  sooner  or  later  ?  I  shall  break  no  heart ; 
not  an  eye  will  weep  for  me  ;  and,  if  Julie  ever  comes  forth 
again  into  the  world,  she  can  but  rejoice  that  I  have  freed  her 
from  my  disagreeable  presence.  Poor  Julie  !  "  —  and  a  quiver 
of  tenderness  broke  up  the  iron  sternness  of  his  voice  —  "  poor 
Julie !  she  will  be  better  off  without  me  —  I,  who  have  so 
crushed  life's  roses  from  her  pathway !  And  yet,  how  she  loved 
me  !  —  how  she  loved  me !  "  —  and  he  rose  and  leaned  his  fore- 
head against  the  mantel. 

His  vest  was  open  j-  and,  as  he  rose,  the  cord  from  his  dressing- 
gown  loosened,  and  something  fell  upon  the  hearth  with  a  sharp 
metallic  ring.  He  started  as  if  an  adder  had  stung  him,  stooped 
to  recover  it,  and  carried  a  small  miniature  set  in  a  golden 
casing  to  his  lips ;  while  the  form  behind  the  window-hangings 
glided  forth. 

Gazing  a  moment  upon  the  locket,  Revere  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  and  burst  into  tears.  Not  wilder  was  the 
elemental  strife  without  than  the  burst  of  emotion  that  shook 
that  strong  man's  frame.  Weak  as  a  very  child,  he  sank  back 
into  his  chair ;  while  the  form  glided  back  into  the  muffling 
shadows  of  the  curtain. 

"  No,  no  !  I  cannot ! "  murmured  the  ruined  man  in  a  hoarse 
voice.  "  The  dead  forbid  it ! "  —  and  he  shuddered.  "  Dead — 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        321 

dead — but  how  do  I  know  that?  Yesterday,  in  her  bloom  and 
beauty  she  stood  before  me!"  —  and  a  superstitious  thrill  ran 
through  his  frame  — "  and  now,  her  pictured  face,  so  sweet,  so 
young,  so  reproachful,  forbids  this  deed ! " 

"  Mary  —  Mary  —  I  obey !  Come  ruin  —  come  disgrace  — 
I  will  not  add  to  my  sins  and  weaknesses  the  crime  of  a 
suicide  ! "  —  and  he  flung  the  deadly  drug  into  the  grate  ;  re- 
turned the  locket  to  his  bosom ;  and,  taking  up  a  light,  went  into 
an  adjoining  chamber  whose  door  stood  ajar  and  threw  himself 
upon  a  bed,  —  and  the  figure  in  the  muffling  shadows  still  kept 
its  station. 

The  morning  broke  bright  and  beautiful,  and  the  city  was 
early  astir.  At  every  corner  groups  were  collected ;  and  men 
talked  in  low  tones  of  a  bold  and  successful  burglary  committed 
the  previous  night.  Newsboys  hawked  their  wares  in  shrill 
voices  morning  papers  were  at  a  premium,  for  the  following 
startling  development  greeted  every  peruser :  — 

GREAT     ROBBERY! 

"Five  Thousand  Dollars  Reward !  —  Last  night  the 

Bank  was  broken  open,  and  a  most  daring  burglary  successfully 
perpetrated  in  our  midst,  The  following  amount  was  taken : 
Twelve  square  boxes  of  silver,  $500  each  ;  six  bags  of  silver, 
ft,')U<>  to  $400  each;  package,  or  bag  of  gold,  $4,500;  package 
of  sovereigns,  $5,000  ;  package  of  foreign  bills  (amount  un- 
known) directed  to ,  from Bank. 

For  the  detection  or  apprehension  of  the  burglar,  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Bank  offers  a  reward  of  Five  Thousand  Dollars. 

The  -  Bank  is  situated  in  the  basement  of  the  new 

hotel,  which  forms  a  part  of  the  block  recently  erected  on 

C — Street.  The  block  is  unfinished  and  unoccupied ;  and 

the  vault  of  the  Bank  adjoins  one  of  the  lower  rooms  of  the 
hotel,  only  separated  from  it  by  a  brick  wall  one  foot  thick.  The 
mortar  used  in  the  construction  of  this  wall  is  comparatively 


322        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN 

fresh  ;  and  the  burglar  must  have  first  entered  the  room  adjoin- 
ing the  vault,  and  with  a  small  crow-bar  forced  away  the  bricks 
sufficiently  to  afford  an  entrance. 

The  plundered  property  was  secured  in  a  safe  of  the  most 
approved  construction,  fastened  by  Hall's  celebrated  patent  gun- 
powder lock,  which  was  opened  by  a  key  that  must  have  been 
prepared  before  the  safe  was  put  into  the  vault.  When  the 
booty  had  been  removed,  the  safe  was  coolly  locked  again." 

That  afternoon,  upon  a  minute  inspection  of  the  vault  by  the 
Chief  of  the  Police,  accompanied  by  the  Bank  officers,  a  bit  of 
folded  paper,  half-worn  and  trampled,  was  picked  up  from  the 
earth.  But  few  words,  torn  and  half-erased,  were  inscribed 
thereon  —  but  those  words,  that  name,  were  sufficiently  plain  to 
the  Argus  eyes  of  the  officer. 

Half  an  hour  after,  a  carriage  stopped  before  the  mercantile 
house  of  Augustus  Revere  ;  and,  as  he  sat  in  his  inner  counting- 
room,  a  heavy  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Mr.  Revere,  I  arrest  you  on  charge  of  the Bank 

robbery !  You  are  my  prisoner !  " 

"  Good  God !  am  I  going  mad  ?  "  groaned  the  unhappy  man, 
as,  without  a  show  of  resistance,  he  suffered  himself  to  be  led 
passively  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

What  deep  wounds  ever  closed  without  a  scar  * 
The  heart's  bleed  longest,  and  but  heal  to  wear 
That  which  disfigures  it. 

CHILDE  HAKOLD. 

LUCIEN  PALFREY  !  one  whose  character  I  shall  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  describe,  —  a  compound  of  contrarieties,  —  apparently  a 
cold,  polished,  brilliant  man  of  the  world,  —  omitting  in  his 
daily  intercourse  with  that  world,  yet  inwardly  despising,  'the 
thousand  thousand  forms  and  shows  that  go  to  make  up  what  is 
called  "  Society  '*  —  those  shallow,  heartless  conventionalities, 
that  are  but  masks  for  our  feelings,  or,  rather,  ignore  all  feeling, 
making  life  cold,  hollow,  measured,  artificial ! 

In  old  Nurse  Allen's  revelation  to  Peace,  we  have  a  knowl- 
edge of  what  sent  him  —  a  saddened,  remorseful  man,  self- 
exiled  from  his  home  ;  let  us  explore  his  past  life  more  minutely. 

It  had  been  his  misfortune  to  be  the  only  child  of  parents, 
whose  thoughts,  pursuits,  and  dispositions  were  antagonistic  to 
his  own.  His  father  was  a  merchant  whose  whole  soul  was 
absorbed  in  the  acquirement  of  wealth,  whose  life  a  daily  rou- 
tine from  his  palatial  mansion  on  Fifth  Avenue  to  his  counting- 
house,  and  from  his  counting-house  to  his  mansion  again.  His 
mother  was  one  of  those  women  so  commonly  met  with  —  natu- 
rally a  sweet,  dependent,  lovable  being,  whose  fitting  sphere  is 
in  the  home  circle  —  but,  from  being  a  millionaire's  wife,  had 
got  out  of  that  sphere,  and,  in  the  world  of  splendor  and  fash- 
ionable gayety,  had  forgotten  her  mother-cares  and  wasted  her 
life. 

(323) 


324        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

The  wealthy  merchant's  wife  had  a  position  to  maintain. 
John  Palfrey  could  not  spare  time  from  bale  and  invoice  and 
shipping  lists  to  frequent  routs  and  balls  ;  but  Mrs.  Palfrey  had 
an  elegant  equipage,  splendid  mansion,  and  she  must,  perforce,  be 
the  representative  of  the  moneyed  man. 

Had  Lucy  Palfrey  possessed  more  strength  of  character,  she 
would  have  put  off  the  fetters  that,  though  gilded,  galled  her 
none  the  less,  and  found  her  happiness,  as  every  true  woman 
should,  beside  her  own  hearthstone ;  but,  enervated  by  the  luxu- 
ries and  lured  by  the  temptations  of  her  position,  she  resigned 
herself  to  the  tide  of  fashionable  dissipation. 

With  her-  great  wealth,  it  might  have  been  her  privilege  to 
carry  happiness  into  the  homes  of  the  many  poor  —  to  banish 
Want  and  Hunger  and  Suffering  from  countless  humble  hearth- 
stones in  the  great  city ;  but  the  delicate  lady  could  not  be 
shocked  by  contact  with  misery  —  and,  from  never  visiting,  she 
gradually  ignored  the  existence  of  that  great  class  whose  lives 
were  not  cast  in  earth's  "  pleasant  places."  Nor  was  this,  that 
she  was  avaricious  —  that  beautiful  lady  —  oh  no  !  If  a  street 
beggar  caught  her  silken  robes  as  she  descended  from  her  ele- 
gant carriage,  imploring  charity,  she  unloosed  her  purse  and 
bestowed  its  contents  bounteously  on  the* "  shocking  creature  ;  " 
her  name  stood  first  on  the  list  of  foreign  mission  endowments 
and  charity  fairs ;  she  read  prayers  every  Sabbath  in  a  stately 
frescoed  church  from  a  jewelled  prayer-bo«k  —  and,  kneeling 
on  a  velvet  hassock,  made  audible  responses ;  alas,  that  within 
a  stone's  throw  of  her  mansion  jvandered  the  poor  and  starving, 
—  and  Want  and  holloweyed  Hunger  kept  grim  guard  in  many 
miserable  homes  where  her  charity  had  never  penetrated  ! 

And  <o  her  days  went  by ;  and  Lueien  grew  into  youth  with 
very  few  demonstrations  that  he  had  a  mother,  save  remem- 
brances of  her  daily  visits  to  the  nursery,  where  Aunt  Allen  — 


PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  325 

a  hale,  hearty  woman  —  tended  him  when  a  child,  and  of  her 
pettings  and  praises  as  he  grew  into  beautiful  boyhood  and  spent 
his  school  vacations  at  home  ;  and,  when  he  had  attained  his 
eighteenth  year,  that  mother,  who,  in  the  prime  of  her  years, 
should  have  been  also  in  the  prime  of  her  strength  and  vigor^ 
summoned  her  son  to  the  bed  where  she  lay,  wasted,  wan, 
exhausted  by  her  mistaken  life  —  exhausted,  and  dying  ! 

Oh  woman,  woman  !  why  will  you  lie  prostrate  under  the 
crushing  wheels  of  that  modern  Juggernaut  —  the  gilded  car  of 
Fashion  ? 

Such  lives  to  live  !  —  such  deaths  to  die  ! 

Endowed  by  your  Maker  with  tender  hearts  laden  with  all 
sweet,  womanly  impulses,  dowried  with  physical  health  and 
mental  vigor  —  why,  because  the  boon  of  Wealth  is  added  to 
other  gifts,  will  you  sit  idly  down  with  listless  folded  hands, 
ignoring  alike  hand  labor,  brain  labor,  and  heart-impulses,  and 
sink  at  last  —  puny,  exhausted,  half-developed  beings  —  into 
early  graves  ? 

Women,  Who  transform  yourselves  into  mere  puppet-shows 
of  capricious  Fashion  —  lounging  away  the  days  in  luxurious 
drawing-rooms  or  in  softly-cushioned  carriages,  and  whirling  in 
demoralizing,  but  fashionable  dances,  the  hours  of  the  night  — 
mothers,  who  give  over  into  careless  hands  precious  children 
with  tender,  plastic  minds  wherein  shall  be  sown  the  seeds  of 
good  or  evil  for  future  reaping  —  was  it  for  this,  the  Creator 
made  tender  hearts,  and  beautiful  physical  endowments,  and  rich 
mental  gifts  ? 

Oh  shame,  shame,  that,  in  these  days  of  coveted  "  women's 
rights  "  and  immunities  —  in  these  days  of  hollow,  gilded  pomp 
and  show  —  too  many  forget  that  the  public  arena,  the  fashion- 
able promenade,  the  applause  of  the  multitude,  bring  never  to 

28 


326  PEACE  :   OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

woman's  ear  music  so  sweet  or  praise  so  grateful  as  the  tender 
voices  and  loving  glances  of  the  "  world  of  love  at  home  ! " 

Blessed  —  thrice  "  blessed,  are  the  beloved  !  " 

Lucien  Palfrey  left  his  mother's  death-bed  a  sad-hearted 
dreamer  of  eighteen.  A  dreamer  ?  —  no  !  —  he  had  been  such 
since  his  earliest  boyhood,  but  he  awoke  then !  He  had  dearly 
loved  his  mother  ;  and  in  her  last  hours,  awakening  to  a  keenest 
sense  of  her  wasted  life,  she  strove  to  compensate  for  her  neg- 
lect ;  then  the  fountain  was  unsealed,  and  the  strong  mother-love 
overflowed. 

But  she  died  —  and  suddenly !  —  stricken  down,  as  she  had 
lived,  in  the  whirl  of  gayety,  the  jewels  scarce  removed  from 
her  white  fingers,  and  the  hectic  flush  still  crimson  on  her 
cheek ;  and,  in  that  death-hour,  a  startling  revelation  —  gathered 
from  her  incoherent  murmurings,  and  an  old  faded  miniature 
which  she  drew  from  its  long-concealed  resting-place  over  her 
heart  and  pressed  passionately  to  her  lips  in  the  ravings  of  de- 
lirium, with  vehement  calls  for  "  dear,  dear  "William  "  —  told 
Lucien  Palfrey  the  secret  of  his  mother's  wasted  life. 

It  was  the  old  story  over  again.  Lucy  Darrah  had  loved  a 
poor  student  youth  of  her  native  village,  Iwit  her  beauty  and 
ambition  were  her  bane.  The  rich  man  came  and  won  her  ;  for 
a  splendid  home  she  bartered  herself,  crushed  her  heart's  plead- 
ings, and  gave  back  her  betrothal  ring.  But  in  her  dying  hour, 
when  all  life's  gauds  and  tinsels  fled,  she  was  true  to  her  first 
faith.  Ever,  in  Death,  as  hi  dreams,  the  heart  returns  to  its 
first,  purest  love. 

"  Alas,  for  Love,  if  thou  wert  all, 
And  nought  beyond,  oh  Earth !  " 

And  when  Lucien  Palfrey  kissed  his  mother's  pale,  sharpened 
features  in  her  coffin,  and  turned  away  to  brood  over  her  wrecked, 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        .327 

wasted  life,  he  said,  shuddering,  "  Gold  won  her.  Let  me  be 
loved  for  myself,  solely  •*—  never  for  rny  wealth  !  " 

But,  in  his  first  love-dream,  the  dreamer  was  destined  to  find 
unhappiness.  Eight  years  from  the  period  of  his  mother's 
death,  his  collegiate  education  and  profession  gained,  he  estab- 
lished himself  at  the  old  family  mansion  at  Springdale  ;  not 
that  application  to  the  duties  of  his  profession  was  necessary  as 
a  means  of  livelihood  —  for  his  father,  dying  three  years  previ- 
ous, bequeathed  his  only  son  a  fortune  almost  princely,  —  but 
to  a  mind  constituted  like  Lucien  Palfrey's  —  a  sensitive  and 
finely-wrought  organization,  that  preyed  upon  itself  if  unoccu- 
pied —  the  cares  and  duties  of  the  life  he  had  chosen  were  a 
healthy  stimulant.  Then  and  there,  amid  a  bevy  of  gay  young 
creatures  assembled  to  pass  a  few  summer  weeks  at  the  country 
seat  of  a  neighbor,  the  young  physician  met  her  whose  bright 
jetty  eyes  and  braids  of  raven  hair  wove  a  dangerous  snare 
about  his  heart.  Jenny  Ogden  was  unmistakably  a  belle  and  a 
beauty  —  a  dazzling,  brilliant,  piquant  brunette  ;  Rumor  also  had 
voted  her  a  flirt ;  and  it  was  scarcely  strange  that  —  from  his 
first  interview,  where,  radiant  with  graceful  animation,  she  suc- 
cessfully parried  the  shafts  of  wit,  ensnaring  men's  hearts  the 
while  by  flashing  glance  and  brilliant  repartee  —  Lucien  Palfrey 
went  away,  irrecoverably  her  victim. 

Jenny  Ogden  was  the  daughter  of  a  widowed  mother  —  one 
of  those  manoeuvring  mammas  who,  without  the  substance  of 
wealth,  contrive  to  preserve  its  semblance,  and  whose  manage- 
ment had  procured  "  eligible "  matches  for  two  married  daugh- 
ters ;  now,  it  remained  but  to  "  settle  "  Jenny  as  mistress  of  a 
wealthy  husband's  establishment,  and  then  the  adroit  mamma 
would  retire  on  her  -laurels.  Nor  was  the  ambitious  daughter 
averse  to  her  parent's  plan  ;  for  Jenay  knew  —  as  what  woman, 
dowried  like  her,  does  not?  —  that  she  was  beautiful,  —  and 


328  PEACE  :  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

from  her  earliest  girlhood  one  preeminent  lesson  had  been  im- 
pressed upon  her  mind  —  "  Your  face  must  make  your  fortune." 

Here  then,  when,  in  a  few  weeks  from  their  meeting,  Lucien 
Palfrey  was  at  her  feet  —  here,  then,  was  the  goal  for  which  she 
had  striven.  A  young,  elegant  and  refined  lover,  possessing 
every  advantage  of  wealth  and  station,  tremblingly  awaited  the 
affirmative  decision  that  would  render  him  the  "happiest  of 
men,"  —  which  decision  was  blushingly  given,  after  a  deal  of 
affected  tearful  regrets  at  the  prospect  of  a  separation  from 
"  mamma,"  who,  meantime,  was  secretly  congratulating  herself 
at  this  chef  d?  ouvre  of  maternal  "  management." 

After  a  brief  engagement,  a  brilliant  wedding  followed  ;  and 
the  papers  chronicled  the  departure  of  the  happy  couple  to  a 
fashionable  watering  place,  where  the  remnant  of  the  season  was 
whirled  away  in  a  round  of  gayety  quite  consonant  to  the  mer- 
curial temperament  of  the  young  bride.  Then  came  a  winter 
of  dissipation  "in  town,  for  Jenny  had  no  idea  of  immuring  her 
beautiful  face  in  the  seclusion  of  Springdale  ;  but  the  spring 
months  found  them  installed  in  their  country  home,  Palfrey 
eagerly  lapsing  into  his  more  congenial  professional  career. 

Then  —  the  excitements  of  gay  society  removed,  and  Jenny 
as  mistress  of  a  quiet  country  mansion  —  the  young  husband  was 
not  long  in  awakening  to  a  full  sense  of  the  aims  and  tastes  of 
her  he  had  taken  to  his  heart  as  his  life-long  companion.  I  need 
not  quote  here  the  hackneyed,  but  none  the  less  truthful  adage, 
"  Marry  hi  haste,  and  repent  at  leisure,"  —  which  perhaps  the 
reader  begins  to  imagine  was  fully  appreciated  by  Dr.  Palfrey 
—  for  hi  truth  this  was  not  so.  Even  with  the  knowledge  of' 
Jenny's  superficial,  heartless  nature  daily  growing  upon  him,  he 
did  not  repent  his  marriage  —  for  he  had  loved  with  all  the 
depth  of  his  tender,  sensitive  nature,  and  could -not  easily  recall 
or  smother  those  affections  ;  yet  it  pained  him  inexpressibly  that 


PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  329 

i 

the  beautiful  fabric  of  domestic  happiness  he  had  builded  was 
fast  crumbling  into  dust. 

In  the  days  of  his  courtship,  Lucien  Palfrey  had  mistaken 
Jenny's  gayety  and  sparkling  brilliancy  for  true  womanly  vivac- 
ity and  amiability ;  he  did  not  ask  himself,  "  Will  she  gladly 
resign  a  skirmish  at  wit  with  her  gallant  admirers  for  a  cozy  fire- 
side tete-a-tete  with  her  husband,  or  the  crowded  saloon  for  her 
own  hearthstone  ? "  But  now  he  was  not  long  in  discover- 
ing that  Jenny  Palfrey  —  she  who  had  reigned  belle  of  the  ball- 
room, the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  whether  at  rout,  theatre,  dinner 
party,  or  promenade,  the  past  winter  —  was  transformed  into  a 
very  different  being  in  her  quiet  country  home. 

"  Would  she  read  ?  "  —  and  he  brought  her  the  treasures  of 
old  poets  or  the  lighter  publications  of  the  day.  She  only 
pouted,  "  Oh  dear,  reading  is  so  stupid  ! "  "  Would  she  sing  ? 
—  and  he  opened  the  ma"ssive  piano,  or  led  her  to  her  harp. 
"  No  —  she  had  a  stupid  headache  ;  besides,  there  was  nobody 
but  Lucien  to  hear  her  ! "  "  Would  she  stroll  in  the  old  forests 
where  the  spring  flowers  bloomed  and  velvet,  emerald  mosses 
carpeted  the  long  aisles  ?  "  "  Dear,  no  !  what  did  Lucien  think 
she  cared  for  the  woods,  where  she  always  encountered  snakes 
and  frightful  things  ?  "  —  "  She  should  die  —  she  knew  she 
should  —  imprisoned  in  that  lonesome  old  place  !  If  Lucien  had 
ever  loved  her,  as  he  professed,  he  would  never  have  brought 
her  out  there  !  Nobody  had  left  the  city  —  nor  would  they,  for 
two  months  to  come !  She  should  perish  of  the  blues,  before 
then  ! " 

Lucien  sighed,  and  turned  away. 

Summer  came  —  a  portion  of  which  was  made  endurable, 
even  pleasant  to  Jenny,  by  filling  the  old  mansion  with  invited 
guests,  and  the  Hall  was  alive  with  gayety;  a  bevy  of  young 
creatures,  foremost  among  whom  was  the  volatile  hostess,  ran- 

28* 


330  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

| 

sacking  old  wardrobes  for  masquerades  and  tableaux  costumes 
—  ornamenting  the  garden  for  fetes  champetres  —  or  planning 
pic-nics  and  fishing  excursions.  But  guests  could  not  remain 
always  ;  and  when  they  left  for  the  watering-places,  and  Jenny's 
pourings  and  yawns  could  not  persuade  Palfrey  into  following 
them,  then  she  relapsed  into  her  old  habits,  and  the  great  house 
became  duller  than  ever.  Moping  about  the  deserted  rooms,  — 
or,  wrapped  .in  a  great  shawl,  lying  on  the  sofa  for  hours 
together,  she  dozed  time  away ;  and  if  Lucien  ventured  to  re- 
monstrate against  her  course,  urging  her  to  accompany  him  on 
his  rides  or  interest  herself  in  some  pursuit  or  study,  her  only 
reply  was'a  burst  of  childish  tears,  varied  by  sullen  pouting  or, 
worse  still,  chilling  indifference. 

Where  now  the  fine  visions  of  domestic  felicity  "  the  dreamer  " 
had  woven  ?  Coming  day  after  day  wearied  from  his  round  of 
visits  —  for  a  wide  circuit  of  country  was  unusually  sickly,  and 
Dr.  Palfrey,  like  many  another  conscientious  physician,  too 
Christian  and  humane  to  deny  a  poor  man's  call  —  coming  home 
to  a  darkened,  close  drawing-room,  or  going  up  stairs  to  find 
Jenny  on  a  lounge  in  her  boudoir  dozing  over  old  novels  from 
the  library,  with  scarce  a  kindly  greeting  for  her  husband  —  it 
was  perfectly  disheartening.  Expostulation  had  failed  —  the 
kindest  attentions  won  but  the  poorest  acknowledgment,  often 
none  —  and  Dr.  Palfrey  had  too  much  dignity  and  self-respect 
to  answer  her  with  reproaches.  Heart-sick,  he  was  forced  to 
the  admission  that  the  wife  of  his  bosom  was  one  of  those  being.s 
who  cannot  be  said  to  exist  save  under  excitement — one  of 
those  fire-flies  in  fashionable  life,  who  dazzle  and  lure  by 
night,  but  become  the  merest  insect  by  the  light  of  common 
day. 

Then  came  a  maddening  thought,  which,  spite  of  his  strict 
resolve  to  "love  and  cherish,"  would  intrude  upon  his  brain. 


PEACE  :  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  331 

"  Did  not  Jenny  wed  me  for  my  wealth  ?  "  With  bitter  groans 
he  strove  to  pluck  it  out,  and  trample  it  into  annihilation. 

When  little  Cora's  blue  eyes  first  opened  to  light  in  the  sweet 
May-time  while  the  violet  and  star-flower  were  blossoming  in 
the  woodland  haunts  about  their  pleasant  country  home,  the 
happy  father,  kissing  Jenny's  pale  cheek,  exclaimed  fervently, 
"  God  has  bestowed  upon  us  a  precious  gift.  For  her  sake,  let 
us  dedicate  .ourselves  to  a  nobler,  better  life ! "  —  and  the  young 
mother  seemed  gentler,  tender,  more  womanly. 

City  friends  drove  qut  to  Springdale  in  their  elegant  barouches 
to  see  the  beautiful  babe  that  lay  in  state  in  old  Nurse  Allen's 
arms,  enveloped  in  the  daintiest  of  embroidered  slips  and  silken 
flannels  —  kissed  its  tiny  red  mouth,  and  pulled  open  its  rose- 
leaf  eyelids  "  just  to  see  if  it  had  mother's  eyes,"  —  then,  nib- 
bling their  rich  cake  and  sipping  their  wines,  recounted  this  or 
that  event  in  the  past  fashionable  season  —  Madame  Ton's 
charming  fancy  ball,  the  debut  of  some  new  actress,  or  the  en- 
gagement of  some  prima  donna;  and  while  this  lasted,  and 
Jenny,  with  the  faintest  rose-tinge  on  her  rounded  cheek,  and  in 
the  prettiest  of  silken  wrappers,  received  their  praises  of  "  baby," 
—  and  then,  in  August,  Lucien  took  them  —  herself,  baby,  nurse 
and  all,  to  a  fashionable  resort,  and  baby  proved  "  good,"  and 
the  blooming  mother  was  a  belle,  taking  the  palm  from  her  un- 
married rivals  —  months  glided  pleasantly. 

But  the  cold  weather  brought  them  home  again  ;  and  Novem- 
ber, with  its  dreary  winds,  bleak  skies,  and  sere  woods,  had  few 
attractions  for  country  visitors,  and  the  little  Cora  few  admirers 
save  old  Nurse  Allen  and  the  equally  venerable  housekeeper — • 
and  began  to  show  unequivocal  symptoms  of  being  "  cross,"  as 
babies  have  doubtless  done,  and  will  do,  through  all  time  —  then, 
the  cares  of  motherhood  did  not  sit  so  lightly  on  the  giddy  Jenny. 
She  longed  to  mingle  once  again  in  that  great  world  whose 


332  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

echoes,  only,  reached  her  in  her  seclusion.  "  She  would  not 
remain  buried  all  winter  in  that  old  mansion !  Lucien  must  take 
a  house  in  town  !  " 

In  vain  Dr.  Palfrey  remonstrated;  well  foreseeing  that,  if 
they  again  went  forth  into  a  city  life,  he  must,  perforce,  resign 
his  new-found  lease  of  tranquillity. 

"  Little  Cora  is  too  young  ;  besides,  I  cannot  leave  my 
patients,"  were  some  among  his  objections. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  urged  Jenny.  "  Do  you  think  I  shall  neglect 
my  child  ?  As  for  your  patients,  you  ca,n  ride  down  to  Spring- 
dale  once  or  twice  every  week.  Of  course  you  cannot  expect  to 
visit  eveiy  old  woman  who  has  the  rheumatism,  or  every  child 
who  chances  to  be  attacked  with  the  measles  or  croup.  Better 
leave  that  field  to  your  rival  —  Dr.  Dinsmore !  The  idea  of  a 
man  of  your  wealth  tying  himself  down  to  a  profession !  It  is 
perfectly  absurd!  I  am  resolved  upon  going  into  town  this 
winter  ! "  —  and  so  Jenny  gained  her  point. 

An  elegant  house  was  taken  in  a  fashionable  square.  By  day, 
Jenny's  carriage  stood  oftenest  before  Stewart's,  or  Ball  and 
Black's,  while  the  obsequious  clerks  displayed  their  choicest 
fabrics  or  costliest  jewels ;  and  by  night,  after  a  flying  visit  to 
the  nursery,  she  was  borne  away  to  rout  or  theatre,  or  received 
in  her  own  drawing-rooms  her  dear  five  hundred  friends. 

Ladies  envied  and  emulated  her ;  gentlemen  paid  their  com- 
pliments to  the  sparkling  Mrs.  Palfrey,  and  '  vowed  the  doctor 
a  lucky  dog.'  For  a  season  he  submitted,  with  "  From  her 
seclusion,  Jenny  enjoys  society  with  a  double  zest ;  "  but  after  a 
period  it  became  annoying,  galling  even,  to  be  forced  to  attend 
her  into  scenes  so  uncongenial.  Then  he  remonstrated. 

"  If  not  to  gratify  your  husband,  at  least  in  consideration  of 
your  own  health,  Jenny,  and  for  the  sake  of  our  child,  withdraw 
in  a  measure  from  this  excessive  dissipation." 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        333 

"  Nonsense,  Lucien  !  '  Excessive  dissipation  ?  '  You  mag- 
nify .everything  !  Little  Cora  is  doing  well  enough  —  only  cut- 
ting her  teeth,  that's  all !  As  for  myself,  I  was  never  better ; 
but  I  do  believe  you're  getting  to  be  a  perfect  Grand  Turk  — 
and,  did  I  choose  to  humor  your  whims,  I  should  deny  myself 
every  gratification  of  society.  Now,  if  you  don't  wish  to  accom- 
pany me  abroad,  I  shall  go  alone ;  then,  everybody  will  know 
what  a  Bluebeard  I  have  for  a  husband  !  " 

In  such  a  fashion,  remonstrances  were  usually  received. 

In  February  the  Italian  Opera  was  to  open  with  the  advent 
of  a  famed  cantatrice  ;  and"  not  only  in  musical  circles  was  the 
excitement  intense,  but  the  world  of  fashion  eagerly  anticipated 
the  brilliance  and  display  of  the  operatic  season  ;  Jenny  Palfrey, 
among  others  of  "  her  set,"  impatiently  awaiting  the  opening 
night. 

Three  days  previous,  a  letter  was  handed  to  Dr.  Palfrey  at 

^ 
dinner. 

"  It  is  from  Uncle  Ben's  physician,"  he  said  after  a  perusal. 
"  The  old  gentleman  is  just  alive.  I  must  leave  in  th6  next 
train,  and  possibly  may  reach  Hartford  before  it  is  too  late  !  "  — 
and  ringing  for  his  man,  Lucien  ordered  his  valise  to  be  packed 
—  and  in  a  half-hour,  kissing  his  wife  and  child,  was  borne  to 
the  depot. 

"  Dear  me,  how  vexing ! "  exclaimed  Jenny  as  she  went  up 
to  the  nursery.  "  I'll  warrant  every  ticket'll  be  taken  up  before 
his  return !  Lucien  is  so  negligent !  Uncle  Ben  dying  ?  I 
don't  believe  a  word  of  it !  Only  a  fit  of  the  gout  —  and  Lucien 
must  needs  post  off  to  Hartford !  For  my  part,  I  believe  he 
thinks  more  of  Uncle  Ben  than  he  did  of  his  own  father !  Dear 
me  !  I'm  fated  not  to  hear  Zada  sing  ! " 

This  was '  on  Satui'day.  Three  days  passed  ;  and  not  until 
five  o'clock  of  Tuesday  afternoon  did  Dr.  Palfrey  again  enter 


331        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

his  home.  Then  his  saddened  countenance  told  the  loss  of  his 
dearly-loved  old  uncle  —  his  last  maternal  relative. 

Looking  into  the  drawing-room,  Jenny  was  not  there,  and  he 
quickly  ascended  to  the  nursery. 

"  Good  evening,  wife  !  —  and  how  is  little  Cora  ?  "  was  his 
first  exclamation,  as  he  drew  aside  the  lace  curtains  from  the 
cradle  where  the  babe  slept  sweetly.  "  I  did  not  think  to  be 
absent  so  long  ;  but,  poor  Uncle  Ben  !  "  —  and  he  sighed.  "  I 
found  him  very  low  —  and  he  lingered  along  till  Sunday  night. 
The  funeral  was  this  morning.  But  what  is  the  matter, 
Jenny  ?  "  —  and  his  eye  fell  upon  the  dishevelled  hair  and  dis- 
orderly wrapper  of  his  pouting  wife.  "  Are  you  ill,  dear  ?  " 

"  Matter  enough  !  "  she  exclaimed  pettishly.  "  I  declare,  it 
is  enough  to  provoke  a  saint !  —  here  every  Opera  ticket  is 
taken  up,  and  —  "  she  tapped  her  slippered  foot  angrily. 

"  The  Opera  !  "  —  and  Dr.  Palfrey  opened  his  dark  eyes  in 
surprise,  then  exclaimed  in  a  severe  voice,  "  Mrs.  Palfrey,  are 
you  in  your  senses  ?  I  thought  I  informed  you  that  Uncle  Ben 
—  do  you  understand  ?  —  my  only  relative  —  was  buried  this 
morning ;  and  since  when,  I  would  inquire,  has  it  been  custom- 
ary, or  in  consonance  with  common  feeling,  even,  for  people  to 
frequent  places  of  amusement  when  a  death  is  of  .recent  occur- 
rence in  their  families  ?  Jenny,  I  am  grieved  and  astonished  ! " 

"Mr.  Palfrey,"-— and  Jenny's  passion  carried  her  beyond  the 
bounds  of  prudence,  and  her  tone  was  bitterly  sarcastic,  "  please 
not  elevate  your  voice  beyond  its  accustomed  key.  I  am  not 
conscious  of  suddenly  losing  my  sense  of  hearing ;  nor  do  I  see 
why  the  death  of  your  uncle,  whom  I  never  saw  —  and  whose 
character,  so  far  as  I  may  judge  by  his  nephew's  representa- 
tions, was  that  of  a  whimsical,  eccentric  old  misanthrope  —  need 
plunge  me  into  mourning  all  the  rest  of  my  days !  As  for  the 
mourning  part,  though  —  I  can't  imagine,  for  my  life,  how  lis- 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        335 

tening  to  an  Italian  Opera  for  a  few  hours  could  transform  pie 
into  the  heartless  wretch  your  words  seem  to  imply  me  as  being ! 
It  isn't  that !  I  believe  it  is  solely  because  you  like  to  exert 
your  masculine  prerogative  of  power,  that  you  are  thus  con- 
stantly thwarting  my  wishes !  Lucien  Palfrey,  it  has  been  so 
ever  since  I  became  your  wife  !  You  have  invariably  kept  up 
this  system  of  conjugal  tyranny  —  objected  to  every  reasonable 
pleasure  1  I  had  better  entered  a  convent  than  married  you  — 
for  I  believe  nuns  are  allowed  the  privilege  of  attending  prayers 
and  mass  ! "  —  and  she  angrily  sent  the  footstool  spinning  across 
the  room. 

•Dr.  Palfrey  was  shocked.  Never  before  had  he  witnessed 
such  an  ebullition  of  passion,  nor  heard  words  so  devoid  of  all 
womanly  delicacy  or  feeling  from  her  lips.  And  she  who  had 
uttered  them  now,  with  angry  eye  and  flushed  cheek  —  that 
speaker  was  one  he  had  so  loved,  so  trusted  —  his  wife  ! 

"Jenny!  '  —  but,  pale  as  death  with  suppressed  indignation 
and  wounded  feeling,  he  checked  the  words  hovering  on  his  lips. 
He  durst  not  trust  himself.  Had  he  uttered  what  rushed  to  his 

• 

tongue,  he  could  never  have  forgiven  himself  afterwards  ;  and  he 
turned  and  was  quietly  leaving  the  apartment. 

As  he  crossed  the  threshold,  a  light  ring  came  at  the  bell ; 
and  the  porter  admitted  a  young  married  lady  who  lived  next 
door  —  an  intimate  associate  of  Jenny  —  who  familiarly  ascended 
the  staircase. 

"  Ah,  good  evening,  Dr.  Palfrey ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Vincent 
in  a  lively  voice.  "  Now  do  you  know  that  I'm  sorry  you've 
returned  ?  —  for  I  had  such  a  pleasant  surprise  for  your  wife  ! 
I  knew  how  she  had  counted  'on  this  Opera,  and  had  actually 
promised  her  to  a  gentleman  friend  for  the  evening,  knowing 
that  you  would  be  too  late  in  procuring  tickets.  You  see,  Belle 
Doane  —  the  young  lady  who's  been  visiting  me,  you  know  — 


336  PEACE:   OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

had  accepted  an  invitation,  and  our  party  was  made  up,  when 
what  should  come  but  a  telegraphic  despatch  that  took  her  off  to 
Albany  not  a  half-hour  ago  —  a  brother's  wife  or  child,  I  believe 
it  -is,  lies  very  ill  —  and  so  I  took  the  liberty  of  saying  that, 
as  Dr.  Palfrey  was  absent,  I  would  ask  his  wife  to  make  one  of 
our  party.  But  —  I  forgot  —  you  left  town  to  visit  a  sick 
friend,  I  believe.  Did  he  recover  ?  "  she  asked,  observing  for 
the  first  time  his  saddened,  pale  features. 

"It  was  my  uncle,  madam.  He  is  dead!"  replied  Palfrey 
sternly. 

"Dear  me  —  I  did  not  suppose  —  I  beg  pardon,"  said  the 
gay  woman  in  subdued  tones.  "  Then  Jenny  would  not  —  "  • 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Vincent,  is  that  you  ?  And  what  were  you  saying 
about  the  Opera  ?  Come  for  me  to  join  the  party  ?  —  Certainly, 
I  should  be  delighted !  Come  in  here  !  "  and  Jenny  appeared 
in  the  nursery  door  that  had  stood  slightly  ajar. 

The  lady  looked  hesitatingly  toward  Dr.  Palfrey,  who  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  staircase  where  they  had  met.  There  was  an 
expression  on  his  face  she  could  not  fathom.  "  Plea?e  walk  in, 
Mrs.  Vincent,"  and  he  Avaved  her  courteously  toward  the  open 
door.  "  Mrs.  Palfrey  knows  my  wishes ! "  he  added  briefly, 
with  his  foot  on  the  first  stair. 

Jenny's  face  flushed.  Her  angry,  fiery  blood  was  lip  in  her 
veins.  "  How  freezing  his  voice  was,"  she  thought.  "  '  She 
knows  my  wishes'  means  that  she  shall  obey  them.  I 'will 
not !  "  and  her  decision  was  taken.  A  few  moments  afterward, 
as  the  two  ladies-  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  whither  Jenny 
accompanied  her  guest,  a  few  words  reached  Dr.  Palfrey  in  his 
library. 

"O,  by-the-way,  my  dear  Mrs.  Vincent,  I  have  a  love  of  an 
opera  cloak  you  will  see  to-night.  —  But  I  am  detaining  you.  — 
Be  sure  and  send  Mr.  Golding  round  in  season  !  "  then  Jenny 
bounded  up  lightly  to  her  dressing-room. 


PEACE:  on  THE  STOLEN  WILL.         337 

In  a  few  moments  her  husband  came  in,  looking  pale  and 
stern. 

"  Mrs.  Palfrey,"  he  said  freezingly,  "  a  few  wbrds  reached  my 
ear,  accidentally,  doubtless,  as  you  accompanied  your  friend 
down  stairs.  Did  I  understand  you  to  mention  Mr.  Golding  as 
your  proposed  escort  to  the  Opera  to-night  ?  " 

"  You  did,"  replied  Jenny  laconically. 

"  An,d  you,  knowing  my  wishes,  have  accepted  his  invitation 
through  Mrs.  Vincent  ?  " 

"  Knowing  your  wishes,  I  have ! "  was  the  answer  in  the 
same  impassive  tone. 

"  Mrs.  Palfrey,"'  and  his  voice  trembled,  "  you  are  my  wife  — 
and  for  that  reason,  and  because  you  are  the  mother  of  my 
child,  your  reputation  is  dear  to  me.  We  will  let  alone  the 
death  of  my  uncle  ;  —  you  must  know  that  the  man  in  whose 
company  you  would  appear  to-night  is  a  roue  and  a  gambler  — 
one,  who,  though  invited  to  the  drawing-rooms  of  lax  and 
unthinking  women  like  Mrs.  Vincent  whose  companionship  you 
a;v  well  aware  I  have  repeatedly  desired  you  to  forego  —  has 
never,  nor  shall,  with  my  permission,  ever  set  foot  within  this 
house  !  And  with  this  man,  you  would  be  seen  at  a  public 
assembly  !  Jenny,  you  are  mad  !  You  shall  countermand  this 
acceptance  at  once  !  " 

"  '  Shall '  ?  "  and  her  black  eyes  flashed.  "  '  Shall '  ?  Lucien 
Palfrey,  if  you  choose  to  play  the  tyrant,  I  have  not  the  slightest 
objection,  provided  /  am  not  the  recipient  of  your  jealous  care. 
I  am  no  child,  to  come  and  go  at  your  beck  and  call :  —  as  for 
my  good  name,  of  which  you  seem  so  particularly  watchful,  fear 
not  but  I  am  sufficient  guardian  of  it.  But,  upon  one  point,  I 
am  resolved  —  to  submit  no  longer  to  your  jealous  restrictions. 
This  invitation  I  shall  not  countermand ! "  and  the  beautiful 
eyes  of  that  angry  woman  blazed  defiance  and  exultation. 

29 


338  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

"Jane  Palfrey,"  and  his  face  was  deadly  pale,  and  every 
word,  measured  in  its  calmness,  dropped  distinctly  into  the 
silence,  "  Jane  Palfrey,  I  scorn  to  withhold  you,  by  more  direct 
Commands,  from  the  accomplishment  of  your"  insane  purpose. 
The  woman  who  forgets  her  self-respect  is  unworthy  mine.  I 
have  only  this  to  add  —  if  you  accompany  Hugh  Golding  to  the 
Opera  this  night,  twenty-four  hours  hence  you  are  no  wife  of 
mine  !  "  and  turning  abruptly,  he  left  her.  • 

A  light,  silvery,  contemptuous  laugh  floated  down  the  stair- 
case as  Dr.  Palfrey  sought  his  library ;  then  a  vigorous  pull  of 
the  bell-cord  summoned  Jenny's  maid  to  her  dressing-room. 
When  the  tea-bell  rang,  she  did  not  go  down  ;  and  Lucien  also 
sent  away  the  servant  who  knocked  twice  at  his  library  door ; 
and  when  the  mantel  clock  chimed  seven,  the  misguided  young 
wife,  radiant  in  jewels  Und  with  the  glowing  tint  of  her  satin 
opera  cloak  lending  a  brighter  hue  to  her  flushed  cheek,  was 
handed  to  a  carriage  where  sat  a  gay  and  fashionable  party,  by 
Hugh  Golding  —  and  whirled  away  to  be  the  cynosure  of  a 
thousand  lorgnettes  in  the  crowded  Opera  House. 

Ten,  eleven,  twelve,  the  docks  chimed  forth  ;  and  still  in  his 
library  sat  Lucien  Palfrey.  What  purposes  flitted  through  his 
mind,  he  hardly  knew  —  so  had  this  daring,  unwifely  act  stunned 
him.  The  morrow's  sun  should  behold  him  far  from  her  side  — 
he  would  not  deprive  her  of  his  name,  or  the  gold  for  which  she 
married  him,  but  he  \w>uld  never  trouble  her  more  —  he  would 
place  miles,  leagues,  seas,  between  them  —  such  were  the  re- 
solves that  swayed  him. 

Suddenly  his  maddening  reverie  was  broken  by  the  stopping 

of  a  carriage  at  the  door.     She  had  returned,  then  ?  —  he  would 

not  see  her  —  he  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

•     But  why  those  trampling  feet  upon  the  marble  steps  ?  —  the 

sudden  ejaculation  of  the  porter  who  opened  the  door  ?  —  the 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  339 

tread  of  men's  feet  in  the  hall  ?  —  those  whispers  ?  "With  a 
thrill  of  ^indefinable  dread,  he  flung  wide  his  door.  A  slender, 
limp  form,  with  dishevelled  hair  and  ghastly  face,  was  in  the 
arms  of  two  gentlemen ;  and  like  one  in  a  dream  he  followed 
them  up  the  staircase  whither  the  porter  preceded  them,  to 
Jenny's  dressing-room.  Then  he  became  conscious  that  others 
stood,  there  beside  him  —  Mrs.  Vincent,  and  two  or  three  ladies 
who  were  weeping  violently.  . 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  huskily  —  "  what  has  happened  ? 
Jenny,  Jenny  !  for  God's  sake  speak  to  me,  darling ! "  and  he 
bent  over  the  bed  whereon  they  laid  her.  Then,  as  he  gazed 
long  upon  the  whjte  crushed  forehead  from  whence  he  brushed 
back  the  long  streaming  masses  of  dishevelled  hair,  with  an 
agonized  groan  he  sank  down  upon  the  pillow  beside  hert 

Mrs.  Vincent  was  sobbing  aloud,  "  Don't !  don't,  Dr.  Palfrey ! 
Poor,  dear  Jenny ! "  when  her  husband  —  one  of  those  who 
had  borne  Mrs.  Palfrey  up  stairs — ^said  with  an  effort  at  self- 
coinmand,  "  Harriette,  calm  yourself  while  I  speak  to  him." 
Then  going  up  to  the  agonized  man,  he  took  his  hand,  saying 
huskily,  while  shudders  of  horror  ran  through  his  frame  and 
broke  up  his  words, 

"  Dr.  Palfrey  —  this  is  awful !  There  was  a  fire  at  the 
theatre.  —  The  dress  of  a  ballet-dancer  was  in  flames  —  they 
communicated  to  the  curtains  —  from  thence  to  the  side-boxes 

—  and  in  the  rush  for  the  doors "  here  he  ceased  ;  but  it 

needed  only  one  glance  at  the  scarred,  disfigured  face  on  the 
pillows  to  complete  the  tale. 

Mr.  Golding  now  came  forward  with  visible  agitation  on  his 
dark  face. 

"  Dr.  Palfrey,"  and  his  voice  shook,  "  I  tried  to  save  her  — 
so  help  me  Heaven,  I  did  my  best  —  but  the  press  was  so  great 

—  we  were  thrown  from  our  feet " 


340  PEACE  :  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  doubt !  I  thank  you  gentlemen  !  "  and  Pal- 
frey's lip  curled  in  bitterness  as  he  staggered  to  his  feet  —  "  but 
go  !  —  leave  me  !  My  dear  Mrs.  Vincent,  this  agitating  scene 
is  too  much  for  you ! "  and  he  quietly  bowed  them  from  the 
room  ;  then,  with  a  stony  gaze  in  his  eyes,  said  firmly,  "  Thomas, 
go  now  for  Dr.  Felton." 

Alone  with  Jenny,  until  Aunt  Allen  came  in  trembling*  with 
fear,  all  the  passionate  love  of  Lucien  Palfrey's  nature  broke 
forth.  Their  parting  : —  his  harshness  -7—  his  after  resolves  — 
all  rose  before  him  ;  and  remorse  almost  maddened  him.  Kiss- 
ing her  pallid  cheeks,  pressing  his  own  to  her  cold  lips,  laying 
his  temples  against  the  fair  white  bosom  thaf^had  so  often,  pil- 
lowed his  head,  he  forgot  everything  but  his  own  accusing, 
remorseful  thoughts,  and  moaned  repeatedly,  "It  is  a  judgment! 
it  is  a  judgment !  " 

"  She  is  not  dead  !  "  said  Dr.  Felton,  placing  a  mirror  to  her 
lips. 

"  Oh,  save  her  —  save  her  !  Doctor,  I  am  unmanned  —  I 
can  do  nothing  —  but  you  must  not1  let  her  die  !  "  and  his  hag- 
gard face  "was  scarcely  less  white  than  hers  upon  the  pillow. 

"  My  dear  young  friend,  whatever  man  can  do  shall  be  done  ; 
but  I  fear  the  decree  has  gone  forth  !  "  was  the  reply  of  the 
sympathizing  physician,  who  saw  with  a  practised  eye  that  med- 
ical skill  was  set  at  naught. 

An(f  so,  ere  the  sun  had  sunk  again  in  the  west  —  unclosing 
her  eyes  to  murmur  a  faint  petition  for  forgiveness  and  look  her 
last  upon  the  baby  Cora  whom  old  Nurse  Allen  had  brought  to 
the  bed-side  —  laying  her  head  nearer  against  the  agonized 
heart  to  which  it  had  been  drawn  —  so  poor,  repentant  Jenny 
Palfrey  breathed  out  her  life. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

"  The  star  of  the  unconquered  Will 

Still  rose  within  her  breast, 
Serene,  and  resolute,  and  still, 
And  calm  and  self-possessed." 

weeks  had  passed  since  the  fire,  and  then  Peace 
awoke  as  from  a  long,  blank  dream.  Weak  as  an  infant,  she 
lay  on  her  pillows.  There  was  a  gentle  stirring  of  the  air  —  a 
delicious  fragrance  stole  over  her  senses  ;  and  she  heard  softest 
whispers.  Where  was  she  ?  Did  angels'  wings  fan  her  brow? 
—  that  delicious  fragrance  —  was  it  from  the  celestial  asphodels  ? 

She  lay  long  in  a  silent,  dreamy  state.  Again  those  whis- 
pering tones  ;  —  she  turned  slightly  on  her  pillow,  and,  unclos- 
ing her  eyes,  lifted  her  hands  to  her  head.  With  a  weak  cry  of 
pain  like  the  plaint  of  a  wounded  bird,  they  fell  back.  The 
sight  of  those  bandaged  hands  recalled  the  incidents  of  that  ter- 
rible fire.  All  was  plain  then.  She  looked  wonderingly  through 
the  parted  bed-curtains  upon  the  form  dimly  outlined  in  the 
shadows. 

"  The  crisis  has  passed.  She  will  live  !  "  said  a  man's  voice, 
as  a  finger  was  gently  laid  upon  her  wrist.  % 

"  Thank  God  !  "  fervently  uttered  Orah  Rowland,  coming  out 
from  the  shadows  and  pressing  her  lips  to  the  blue-veined  fore- 
head on  the  pillow,  while  a  few  tears  dropped  on  Peace's  face. 

"  Yes,  thank  God !  "  again  said  the  voice  that  had  first  fallen 
on  Peace's  ear  —  a  voice  that  quivered  her  weak  frame  with  a 
thrill  of  strange  delight. 

"  Orah  1 "  she  feebly  whispered. 

29*  (341) 


342  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

"  Hush,  my  dear ! "  and  a  finger  was  laid  on  Peace's  lips. 
"  Not  a  word  !  You  have  been  very  ill  —  you  must  not  talk." 

"  Tell  me  —  who  was  it  ?  —  who  went  out  ?  "  whispered  the 
sick  girl,  withdrawing  her  feeble  gaze  from  the  door  where  a 
tall  form  had  just  disappeared. 

"  It  was  Dr.  Palfrey  !     There,  hush  now  !  " 

A  faint  rose-tint  crept  over  the  thin  white  cheeks  on  the 
pillows  —  a  smile,  soft,  loving,  and  tender  as  a  child's,  rippled 
about  her  lips  —  and  she  turned  her  face  toward  the  wall. 
Tears  were  crushed  under  her  drooping  eyelids. 

Orah's  quick  woman-heart-  divined  her  thoughts.  A  brilliant 
smile  brightened  her  features,  and  she  laid  her  hand  softly  on 
Peace's  forehead. 

"  Listen,  but  be  very  quiet,  little  one  ! "  she  said  gently. 
"  Peace,  I  have  not  read  the  depths  of  your  heart,  but  I  think 
I  know  Lucien  Palfrey's  —  betrayed  during  these  last  three 
weeks'  anxiety  —  for,  darling,  you  have  been  very,  very  ill !  ' 
and  the  hand  upon  her  brow  trembled.  "  These  are  his  gifts  !  " 
and  Orah  lifted  a  vase  of  superb  flowers  from  the  table,  "  Lucien 
^Palfrey  loves  you  !  There,  not  a  word  now  —  I  shall  regret 
having  opened  my  lips  if  I  get  you  ill  again,  and  call  down  the 
doctor's  anathemas  on  my  devoted  head.  You  must  sleep  — 
and  I  shall  leave  you  now." 

"  Stay !  "  whispered  Peace,  "  one  moment !  —  That  night  — 
the  fire— Cora?" 

"  Cora  and  Aunt  Allen  were  saved.  Your  noble  daring 
shamed  those  strong  men.  These  poor  hands,"  and  she  laid 
them  softly  on  a  little  hair  pillow  —  "  they  were  the  agents  of  a 
strong  heart.  Lucien  Palfrey  may  well  love  the  brave  girl  who 
saved  his  child  from  a  terrible  death  !  " 

Peace  lay  meek  and  passive  as  a  child,  while  Orah  looped 
aside  the  bed-curtains  that  the  cool,  perfumed  air  might  play 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        34.3 

over  her  —  drew  closer  the  dark  window-drapery  —  then  nun" 
herself  down  into  an  easy  chair.  And  the  two  were  alone  with 
their  thoughts  —  the  girl  of  noble  beauty,  with  her  superb 
physique,  proud  midnight  eyes,  and  strong  conquered  heart,  and 
the  weak  invalid  who  lay  very  quiet,  with  grateful  tears  drop- 
ping softly  from  eyes  that  closed  at  length  in  long,  refreshing 
slumber. 

In  two  weeks,  so  rapid  was  her  recovery,  Peace  made  her 
appearance  below,  her  feeble  steps  supported  by  kind  old  Judge 
Rowland  —  for  it  was  to  his  mansion  that  she  had  been  con- 
veyed in  an  easy  carriage  on  the .  day  succeeding  the  fire,  and 
where  she  had  lain  for  three  weeks  in  the  delirium  of  brain 
fever,  while  Orah  alternated  the  days  and  nights  of  watching 
with  an  experienced  nurse. 

When  the  despatch  had  reached  Saratoga  informing  Dr.  Pal- 
frey of  the  casualty  at  his  country  seat,  he  forgot  instantly  his 
syren  dreams  of  pleasure  ;  unmindful  of  every  thought,  save  that 
his  darling  child  had  been  rescued  unharmed  from  a  terrible 
death.  And  when  he  turned  from  the  blackened,  smouldering 
pile,  to  clasp  anew  his  little  one,  and  listened  to  Aunt  Allen's 
pathetic  recital  of  "  Miss  Peace's "  intrepidity,  then  went  to 
Judge  Rowland's  mansion' to  loo^  upon  the  girl  lying  apparently 
at  Death's  door  —  then,  a  wish,  so  strong  and  imperious  that 
he  felt  his  Maker  would  deal  unmercifully  should  he  call  that 
sufferer  home,  prompted  the  prayers  he  uttered  for  her  recov- 
ery. 

Not  a  thought  of  Florence  Delano  disturbed  those  hours.  lie 
had  awakened  from  his  dream.  Like  a  mirage,  her* image 
faded  ;  as  the  dipping  wing  of  a  bird,  or  a  leaf  fluttering  down 
to  the  surface  of  a  still  lake,  so  had  his  heart  been  only  slightly 
ruffled.  His  beautiful  cousin  had  never  stirred  the  deep  waters 
beneath.  Recalling  every  past  interview  with  the  gentle  gov- 


344  PEACE  :    OK   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

erness  —  her  quiet  dignity,  unobtrusive  worth,  and  pure  womanly 
sentiments  expressed  in  conversation  —  and  lastly,  dwelling  on 
this  deed  by  which  she  had  perilled  her  life  for  his  child  —  it 
was  not  strange  that  a  species  of  fervid,  intense  devotion  sprang 
up,  increasing  daily,  for  the  sufferer.  So  the  long  days  and 
nights  of  those  three  weeks  were  devoted  to  her  care ;  and 
the  words  which  echped  Orah  Rowland's  "  Thank  God ! " 
were  a  true  expression  of  his  joy  at  her  anticipated  recov- 
ery. 

Mrs.  Delano  and  Florence  returned  to  New  York  with  Pal- 
frey —  the  former  half-frantic  with  terror  for  the  safety  of  her 
"  darlings,"  and  her  daughter  piqued  that  she  had  not  brought 
her  admirer  to  a  declaration.  And  when,  day  after  day,  he  hov- 
ered about  Judge  Rowland's  mansion  —  and,  in  his  calls  at  Mrs. 
Delano's,  where  his  child  and  Nurse  Allen  were  installed  as  of 
old,  looked  pale  and  care-worn  —  talking  only  of  the  suffering 
Peace  —  then  the  indignation  of  the  mother,  and  the  discom- 
fiture of  the  daughter,  were  with  difficulty  repressed. 

"  The  artful  creature  !  "  said  Mrs.  Delano  after  one  of  these 
visits,  —  "  she  could  well  afford  a  few  burns  to  win  him  !  —  and 
if  it  goes  on  long  in  this  way,  with  that  Orah  Howland  as  her 
aid,  making  Lucien  believe  her  the  paragon  of  amiability  and 
meekness,  she  will  succeed.  Florence,  by  the  terms  of  her 
agreement,  she  was  to  remain  here  one  year ;  and  I  will  claim 
her.  Once  in  her  station  again,  the  danger  is  over.  We  must 
call  upon  her  to-morrow  ! " 

The  ensuing  day  found  Mrs.  Delano's  carriage  before  Judge 
Howlftnd's  house  ;  and  that  lady  and  her  daughter,  wreathed  in 
deceitful  smiles,  sent  up  their  inquiry  for  Miss  Wedgewood. 
They  were  met  in  the  drawing-room  by  Orah  Howland ;  and 
presently  Peace  made  her  appearance  with  the  faint  hue  of  re- 
turning health  on  her  cheek.  Both  visitors  were  profuse  in 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        345 

their  expressions  of  delight  at  her  rapid  recovery,  and  saluted 
her  with  a  kiss. 

"  Dr.  Palfrey  owes  you  a  debt  he  can  never  repay,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Delano.  "  Nor  can  my  daughter  or  myself  fitly 
express  our  obligation  —  for,  as  you  must  well  suppose,  little 
Cora  is  very  dear  to  us  ! "  —  and  she  glanced  meaningly  toward 
Florence. 

Peace  received  their  expressions  with  quiet  thanks.  Intui- 
tively she  read  that  some  motive,  other  than  their  suddenly  con- 
ceived regard,  had  sent  there  that  supercilious  woman  and  her 
haughty  daughter ;  but,  in  the  honesty  of  her  own  nature,  she 
did  not  quite  fathom  it. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Howland,  you  have  quite  forestalled  us  in 
your  appropriation  of  Peace,"  said  Mrs.  Delano  in  a  flattering 
tone.  "  I  perceive  you  have  almost  worn  yourself  out  in  the 
sick  room.  Dr.  Palfrey  says  you  are  a  very  Sister  of  Mercy. 
It  is  quite  time  we  should  relieve  you.  I  came  to  take  our  dear 
girl  home ;  where,  I  assure  you,  she  shall  remain  on  the  invalid 
list  as  long  as  she  chooses  before  entering  the  school-room  again, 
though  my  darlings  clamor  loudly  for  the  return  of  their  beloved 
teacher." 

Orah  Rowland's  keen  perceptions  of  human  nature  pierced 
the  wily  woman's  artifice ;  and  her  reply,  in  her  own  decided, 
haughty, ^et  .courteous  way,  forestalled  the  answer  on"  Peace's 
lips. 

"  Mrs.  Delano,  for  your  proffered  hospitality  I  am  sure  Miss 
Wedgewood  is  duly  grateful ;  but  at  present  she  is  located  in  a 
home  where,  if  there  be  any  claim  in  the  strongest  friendship 
and  sisterly  love,  Orah  Howland  designs  to  urge  her  longer 
presence.  Nay,  Peace  —  don't  rebel !  You  are  my  prisoner ! " 
—  and  slie  laid  her  hand  playfully  yet  decidedly  on  the  young 
girl's  lips. 


340        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

"  Really,  Miss  Rowland,"  said  Mrs.  Delano  with  reddened 
cheek,  "  this  is  not  quite  what  I  expected.  But  it  is  to  you, 
Miss  "Wedgewood,  I  made  my  request.  You  remember,  doubt- 
less, that  your  engagement  as  governess  in  my  family  has  not 
yet  expired  ?  " 

"  I  am  aware  of  it,  madam  !  "  replied  Peace  quietly,  sustained 
by  Orah's  firm,  reassuring  glance,  and  reading  Mrs.  Delano's 
motive  for  her  return. 

"  And  I  require  the  fulfilment  of  that  obligation !  "  said  that 
lady,  whose  exasperation  got  the  better  of  her  tact.  "  Upon 
your  restoration  to  health,  I  mean,  of  course,"  she  added,  in  a 
mollified  voice. 

Orah  could  no  longer  restrain  herself. 

"  Madam,"  she  commenced  in  her  own  haughty  tone,  "  your 
disinterested  kindness  entitles  you  to  our  combined  thanks.  Per- 
haps this  matter  had  better  be  referred  to  Miss  Wedgewood's 
physician  ;  as  Dr.  Palfrey  is  doubtless  the  best  judge  whether 
his  patient's  health  is  sufficiently  restored  to  igithstand  the  seclu- 
sion of  a  school-room." 

That  shaft  went  home.  Mrs.  Delano  absolutely  quivered 
with  suppressed  rage ;  and  a  quick  concentrated  gleam  of  hate 
sparkled  in  Florence's  eyes,  as,  white  and  cold  as  marble,  she 
swept  the  folds  of  her  lace  shawl  about  her  statuesque  form,  and 
closed  her  jewelled  fingers  so  tightly  over  her  fan  thaUthe  deli- 
cate ivory  sticks  shivered  in  her  grasp. 

"  Mamma,  you  forgot  that  we  purposed  driving  down  town," 
she  said  in  a  chill,  indifferent  tone,  rising,  drawing  forth  her  tiny 
jewelled  watch  as  she  spoke ;  while  Orah  Rowland  rose  also, 
coldly  courteous  in  manner. 

"  Such  insufferable  insolence  ! "  exclaimed  the  indignant  girl, 
imperiously  pacing  the  carpet  after  Mrs.  Delano's  carriage  had 
rolled  away.  "  Such  arrogance !  —  to  come  here  with  their 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  347 

offered  Hospitality  !  —  their  protestations  of  friendship  !  "Why, 
Florence  Delano,  with  her  soulless  lips  —  I'd  as  lief  an  icicle 
would  touch  mine  !  —  actually  kissed  you  !  Peace,  Peace,  what 
are  you  crying  for  ?  Because  I  dared  answer  that  supercilious 
woman  after  her  own  fashion  ?  I  can  see  now  what  you  must 
have  suffered  with  them ;  and  can't  I  fathom  now,  also,  their 
motive  ?  Yes  !  I  tell  you,  Peace,  they  meant  to  carry  you  back 
to  the  worse  than  nunnery  confinement  of  their  school-room,  in 
order  that  Florence  Delano  might  win  back  her  truant  lover. 
Truant  ?  No !  I  wrong  him  there !  He  never  loved  such  a 
heartless,  soulless  piece  of  human  mechanism !  It  was  her 
beauty  and  deceit  that  enthralled  him  ;  but  Peace,  darling,  he  is 
your  captive  now  —  and  when  he  asks  you,  as  he  will  soon,  to 
become  his  wife,  I  can  wish  you  no  happier  lot !  "  —  and  with  a 
kiss  Orah  Rowland  left  her. 

"  He  loves  me  !  —  he  will  ask  me  to  become  his  wife  ! "  she 
murmured.  "  But  can  I ?  —  dare  I ?  —  ought  I?"  —  and  she 
sat  long  with  bowed  head  and  folded  hands. 

"  Capital !  capital !  "  exclaimed  old  Judge  Rowland,  rubbing 
his  hands  in  high  glee  as  Orah  recounted  the  unsuccessful  ter- 
mination of  Mrs.  Delano's  visit.  "  What  a  lawer  you'd  made, 
pet,  if  you'd  been  a  man  !  —  speaker  of  the  Senate,  by  this  time  ! 
—  who  knows  ?"  —  and  he  pinched  her  cheek.  "  But  seriously, 
daughter,  that  wasn't  bad  —  to  bring  down  that  parvenue  Mrs. 
Delano  !  Take  our  Peace  away  from  us  ?  indeed  !  Have  her 
turn  governess  again?  Well,  really!  that  was  a  hair's  stroke 
too  much  !  Why,  the  girl  ought  to  have  a  pension  settled  on 
her  for  the  rest  of  her  natural  life  !  —  and  to  my  thinking,  Dr. 
Palfrey.'s  the  fellow  to  propose  it  —  said  pension  to  consist  of  an 
offer  of  his  hand  and  heart.  Faith !  if  he  don't  do  it  quickly, 
I'll  go  down  on  my  rheumatic  old  knees  to  her  myself !  Eli ! 


348  PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

that  I  will,  pet !  —  and  bring  you  a  mother-in-law  worth  hav- 
ing ! "  —  and,  rubbing  his  hands  together,  the  old  gentleman 
took  down  his  gold-headed  cane  and  went  down  town. 

But  there  was  another  member  of  that  household  not  insen- 
sible to  the  merits  of  our  gentle  Peace  ;  for  that  evening  —  a 
soft,  moonlight  evening,  while  Orah  entertained  a  few  guests  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  the  invalid  lingered  in  the  cool,  dimly 
lighted  conservatory  —  Louis  Rowland  sat  by  her  side,  and  in  a 
frank,  manly  voice  besoughf  her  to  become  his  wife. 

"  Peace,  Miss  Wedgewood,  I  have  nothing  to  hope  for,"  he 
said  in  a  voice  that  trembled  slightly,  "  I  have  little  foundation 
for  the  beautiful  dream  I  have  reared  —  and  yet  I  have  ven- 
tured to  ask  you  to  become  my  wife.  Peace,  have  I  asked  too 
much  ?  "  and  his  hand  closed  tightly  over  hers. 

Peace  was^  much  affected.  She  trembled  violently.  How 
painful  to  reply,  as  she  must,  to  that  manly  avowal  of  earnest 
love  !  and  many  minutes  elapsed  before  she  found  calmness  to 
express,  in  delicately  chosen  words,  her  appreciation  of  the 
honor  and  kindness  she  could  never  accept. 

"  Miss  Wedgewood,"  and  his  hand  grew  cold,  "  this  is  not 
what  I  could  have  wished  —  although  what  I  should  have 
expected  !  But  you  are  not  to  blame.  Had  you  bestowed  upon 
me  this  hand,  with  the  accompanying  treasure  of  your  heart,  it 
would  have  rendered  me  a  happy  man.  I  shall  suffer  —  but  I 
shall  try  to  conquer.  Though  lost  as  a  lover,  keep  me  always 
among  your  friends,  Peace  —  I  would  not  like  to  be  bani.-hed 
there ;  and  he  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  win  you  shall  have 
my  warmest  friendship,  too.  God  bless  you,  Peace  !  "  and  so 
he  left  her. 

Peace  went  hastily  to  her  room.  She  felt  weak  and  weary, 
and  sank  into  a  chair.  The  evening  paper  lay  upon  her  table  ; 
and  mechanically  her  eye  glanced  down  its  columns.  A  few 


PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  349 

:mv--ted  her  attention,  and  brought  a  deadly  pallor  to  her 
cheek.  The  sheet  fell  from  her  hand,  and  she  sunk  down  in  a 
long  swoon. 

The  next  morning,  still  pale  and  weak,  she  sat  in  Orah's 
dressing-room.  "  Peace,  what  ails  you  ?  You  have  looked  ill 
all  the  morning.  I  must  send  directly  for  a  •certain  physician 
who  <•  prescriptions  will  doubtless  bring  balm  and  healing,"  and 
Orali  glanced  archly  from  her  sewing  into  her  companion's  dull, 
leaden  eyes. 

"  I  slept  hut  little  lust  night,"  replied  Peace  evasively. 

Just  then,  a  servant  tapped  at  the  door.  "  Dr.  Palfrey  is 
below." 

"  For  whom  did  he  inquire,  John  ?  "  asked  Orah. 

"  For  Miss  Wedgewood."   . 

"..There,  little  one  —  go  down  !  I  was  sure  he  would  come 
to-,l:iy.  Hu-ten,  deaf  —  men  never  like  to  be  kept  in  wait- 
ing, you  know.  And  do  try  and  get  a  little  color  into  tho.-e 
pale  cheek  ,  el.-e  I  shall  forfeit  my  reputation  as  a  famous 
nur  <>.'' 

With  a  trembling  step.  Peace  crossed  the  threshold  of  the 
drawing-room.  Lucien  Palfrey  rose  from  the  piano  where  he 
sat  humming,  in  a  subdued  rich  tenor  voice,  that  sweet  old  Scottish 
ballad  —  "Annie  Lawrie;"  and  as  he  came  forward  to  lead  her 
to  the  sofa  a  smile  brightened  his  face  and  he  murmured  ten- 
derly the  refrain  — 

'•  Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet*. 

And  *he's  all  the  world  to  me,  — 
And  for  honiiie  Annie  L:i \vrie 
I'd  lay  me.  down  and  dec  !  " 

"  Peace,  Peace,"  he  whispered,  still  retaining  her  hand  as  he 
seated  himself  beside  her,  "  you  must  know  my  mission  here 

30 


ooO       •  PEACE:   OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

to-day.  Be  very  merciful  to  your  suppliant,  beloved  one :  let 
your  name  be  symbolical  of  the  happiness  you  can  award  me  — 
give  me  perfect  peace  and  joy." 

"With  a  face  colorless  as  marble,  Peace  shrank  away.  Droop- 
ing like  a  broken  lily,  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  — 
every  throb  of  her  heart  answering  to  his  pleadings,  but  every 
sentiment  of  honor  forbidding  her  to  become  his. 

"Peace,  dear  child,  you  are  ill.  You  are  not  strong  yet. 
Tell  me  nothing  until  you  are  calmer." 

"  No,  it  was  not  that.  I  am  strong  —  see,  how  strong  !  "  and 
she  sprang  up,  waves  of  crimson  flooding  her  cheek  —  "  it  is 
not  that !  —  but,  Dr.  Palfrey,  do  not  ask  me  what  separates  us  ! 
—  I  cannot  become  your  wife  !  " 

"  Peace,"  and  he  caught  her  hand,  "  Peace,  tell  me  !  I  will 
know !  There  shall  be  nothing  on  earth  strong  enough  to  divide 
us.  So  long  as  you  are  the  noble  girl  who  perilled  her  precious 
life  at  the  dictate  of  her  own  generous,  self-sacrificing  heart  — 
so  long  am  I  your  slave  !  —  But  ah  !  I  have  it  now !  "  and  he 
struck  his  forehead  with  a  trembling  hand  —  "  fool,  that  in  my 
presumption  I  did  not  think  of  it  before  !  Your  rich  love  is 
given  to  another.  Louis  Howland  has  won  you.  This  is  an 
obstacle,  in  truth  — '  oh,  Peace,  I  understand  you  now ! "  and  he 
released  her  hand. 

"  No  !  no  !'  as  Heaven  is  my*  witness,  you  wrong  me  now  — 
for,  Lucien  Palfrey,  save  yours  there  is  no  proifered  love  grate- 
ful to  my  lonely  heart.  And,  could  I  accept  it  —  could  I  —  " 
and  her  head  sank  in  momentary  weakness  on  his  shoulder, 
while  the  clasp  of  his  arms  tightened  —  "I  would  ask  no  dearer 
boon.  But  it  cannot  be.  Let  me  go  from  your  presence  before 
you  thrust  me  away  —  out  of  your  heart,  —  for,  Lucien  Palfrey, 
the  woman  whom  you  would  make  your  wife  should  bring  you 
a  stainless  name  —  while  I,  alas !  I  am  the  child  of  shame  ! 


PEACE  :    OB    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  851 

There,  let  me   go   now!"   and  meekly,  humbly,  she   turned 
away. 

"Peace!" 

Was  it  an  exclamation  of  reproach,  or  pity,  that  fell  from  Dr. 
Palfrey's  lips  ?  Keproach  or  pity  —  the  excited  girl  could  bear 
neither  then.  Her  brain  seemed  on  fire. 

"  Lucien  Palfrey,"  and  a  deadly  paleness  usurped  the  crimson 
flush  on  her  brow,  "  no  tongue  can  tell  the  mental  sufferings  I 
have  endured  for  the  past  three  weeks;  —  yet,  last  night,  a 
greater  misery  came  —  a  stunning  blow  fell  on  heart  and  brain, 
and  left  me  wounded,  humiliated,  crushed.  One  week  hence, 
the  merchant,  Augustus  Revere,  will  be  brought  forth  from  the 
felon's  cell  to  his  trial.  That  man  is  my  father!  " 

"  But,  Peace,  I  cannot  comprehend.  — -  It  is  a  dream  —  some 
wild  chimera  of  your  brain  —  you  are  ill,  my  poor  child  !  "  said 
Palfrey  in  astonishment. 

•  "  No,  would  to  Heaven  it  were ! "  replied  Peace  faintly. 
"  It  is  not  much  to  learn,"  she  added  bitterly  — "  only  the  old 
story  of  man's  wickedness  and  woman's  frailty.  My  gentle 
mother  !  "  and  she  wept  unrestrainedly.  —  "  But,  Dr.  Palfrey,  I 
must  visit  the  Prison  to-morrow.  You  will  assist  me  to  go 
there  —  he  is  my  parent ;  and,  innocent  or  guilty,  my  place  is 
at  his  side.  You  will  not  refuse  me  ?  If  you  have  any  regard 
for  me,  prove  it  by  this !  "  and  she  clung  imploringly  to  his 
arm. 

"  Peace,"  and  he  drew  her  toward  him.  "  If  this  sad  revela- 
tion be  true,  whose  arms  shall  shelter  you  ?  Give  me  that  right 
—  a  husband's  right  to  protect  you." 

"  No  !  no  !  I  will  not  take  advantage  of  your  noble  impulses. 
No  man  shall  have  cause  to  blush  for  me  as  his  wife  —  you,  of 
all  others,  so  generous,  so  good  !  It  would  kill  me  —  that  sti- 
fling load  of  shame.  —  It  cannot  be  !  —  But  let  us  talk  no  more 


352  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL, 

of  this  !     You  will  get  me  admitted  to  —  to  the  Prison  —  to- 
morrow ? "  » 

"  Yes  —  but  I  shall  not  thus  resign  you.  Now  go  to  your 
room,  and  try  to  sleep.  I  must  not  allow  my  little  one  to  get 
ill  again  !  "  and  touching  his  lips  to  her  forehead,  he  led  her  to 
the  door. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

These  strange  and  sudden  injuries  have  fallen 
So  thick  upon  me,  that  I  lose  all  sense 
Of  what  they  are.    Methinks  I  am  not  wronged ; 
Nor  is  it  aught,  if  from  the  censuring  world 
I  can  but  hide  it.     *    *    *     Reputation  ! 
Thou  art  a  word  no  more ! 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

AN  abler  per^  than  mine  has  written,  "  Perhaps  in  the  whole 
world  there  is  not  a  building  where  all  the  horror,  the  wild 
poetry  of  sin  and  grief,  is  so  forcibly  written  out  in  black 
shadows  and  hard  stone,  as  in  the  city  prison  of  New 
York." 

And  it  was  before  this  huge  structure,  with  its  heavy 
Egyptian  architecture,  its  solid,  windowless  walls  and  massive 
column?,  —  before  this  monster  crouching  down  in  the  city's 
heart  like  a  wild  beast  in  its  wilderness  jungle  —  the  teeming, 
crowded  growth  of  civilization  pressing  on  every  side  like  the 
rank  luxuriance  of  tropic  forests,  —  before  this  prison  house,  bap- 
tized by  sin  and  suffering  with  a  fearfully  significant  name, 
"The  Tombs,"  —  that  a  close  carriage  drew  up  on  a  sultry 
August  morning. 

Supported  by  the  strong  arm  of  her  companion,  a  slight,  deli- 
cate girl,  closely  veiled,  alighted  and  walked  feebly  toward  the 
prison;  while  the  driver  reined  his  horses  among  the  heavy 
shadows, to  await  their,  return. 

Into  that  atmosphere  so  redolent  of  human  crime  and  suffer- 
80*  (353) 


354  PEACE:    OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

ing  —  toward  that  ponderous  pile  against  whose  hard  walls  so 
many  cries  have  beaten  unheeded  but  to  be  dashed  back  to 
hopeless  lips  —  into  that  haunt  of  the  great  city  where  crime  is 
ever  stealthily  lurking,  and  the  face  of  a  fair,  refined  woman  is 
seldom  seen  save  she  goes  thither  at  the  dictate  of  philanthropy, 
or  —  Heaven  bless  her! — to  carry  consolation  to  some  being 
inside  those  black  prison  walls  unto  whom  she  is  allied  by  ties 
of  kindred  or  affection  —  into  such  a  region,  why  had  that  fair 
girl,  who  strove  vainly  to  repress  the  chill  shudders  that  shook 
her  frame  as  she  passed  underneath  the  frowning  portals  of  the 
ponderous  door-way,  penetrated  ? 

Ah,  that  delicate  girl  was  on  a  holy  mission ;  her  feet  trode  on 
their  Mecca  pilgrimage,  but  her  heart  was  sent  before !  Peace 
was  seeking  her  father. 

After  a  short  consultation  with  the  Warden  in  an  outer  office, 
an  officer  opened  a  heavy  door  on  its  iron  hinges,  and  Lucien 
Palfrey  led  his  trembling  companion  forward  into  an  open  court 
surrounded  by  high  stone  buildings  whose  black  walls  frowned 
gloomily  on  every  side.  Following  their  guide  across  this  court, 
they  ascended  two  flights  of  massive  broad  stone  stairs ;  then 
traversed  a  long  corridor,  at  the  extremity  of  which  the  officer 
paused  and  unlocked  a  door.  Flinging  it  wide  open,  he  said, 

"  This  is  the  cell,  sir  !  " 

Peace  shrank  back  momentarily,  and  whispered,  catching  at 
Palfrey's  arm,  "  Must  I  go  in  alone  ?  "  Now  that  her  journey's 
end  was  gained,  her  heart  failed  her. 

"  Be  calm,  Peace,"  —  and  he  held  both  her  hands  in  his  for 
a  moment, 'gently  reassuring  her.  "  I  shall  remain  here,  await- 
ing you.  Be  calm  and  brave  —  and  remember,  that,  whatever 
may  come  of*  this  interview,  nothing  can  change  my  affection. 
Go  in  now  !  "  —  and  Peace  crossed  the  threshold,  and  the  great 
door  swung  slowly  to  behind  her. 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  -WILL.      •  355 

The  officer  was  retiring,  and  Dr.  Palfrey  walked  beside  him 
the  length  of  the  corridor. 

"  How  will  it  go  with  the  prisoner,  think  you  ?  " 

"  Hard,  I  fear,"  was  the  reply.  Nothing  in  his  favor  turned 
up  at  the  examination.  The  money —  or  a  portion  of  it  —  the 
marked  bills  —  were  found  in  his  possession,  secreted  in  a  cab- 
inet at  his  house  ;  and  that'll  be  pretty  conclusive  evidence.  No 
doubt  but  he'll  go  up  to  Sing  Sing !  When  your  rich  men  go 
down,  they  make  a  clean  sweep  of  it !  He  was  on  the  eve  of 
bankruptcy,  they  say.  Who  is  the  lady  just  gone  in  there  ?  — 
his  daughter  ?  —  Poor  thing  !  Sad  affair  for  his  friends  !  " 

"  Yes,  sad  affair,  truly  !  "  replied  Palfrey,  evading  the  query ; 
then,  while  the  officer  descended  the  staircase,  he  retraced  his 
steps  to  the  vicinity  of  the  cell. 

Meantime,  what  was  passing  inside  that  heavy  door  whose 
clang,  as  it  shut  behind  her,  smote  Peace's  heart  with  a  sudden 

thrill  of  terror  ? 
« 
The  prisoner  sat  on  the  side  of  his  low  iron  pallet,  with  his 

elbows  on  his  knees,  and  his  head  bowed  listlessly  on  his  thin 
white  hands.  Thus  had  he  sat  day  after  day  since  his  committal, 
in  the  dull  apathy  of  despair  —  heeding  not  the  lapse  of  time, 
and  making  no  preparation  for  the  approaching  trial.  Peace 
saw  the  outline  of  a  thin  wasted  figure  in  the  dim  light  —  and, 
forgetful  of  her  fear,  swayed  only  by  the  wild  rushing  tide  of 
emotion  that  surged  upon  her  heart,  she  sprang  forward  and 
sank  before  him. 

Revere  had  not  looked  up  when  the  cell-door  opened,  sup- 
posing* his  visitor  to  be  the  keeper ;  but  now  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
shaded  his  eyes  a  moment  with  his  hands,  then  sank  nervelessly 
back.  A  sudden  faintness  seized  him  —  his  lips  moved,  but 
could  utter  no  sound.  Peace  hastily  detached  the  miniature 
from  her  neck,  and  placed  it  in  his  shaking  hand. 


356  PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    "WILL. 

"  Good  God !  who  are  you  ?  *'  at  length  groaned  the  unhappy 
man.  "  Have  you  come  from  the  dead  ?  Did  she  send  you  ?  " 
—  and  a  superstitious  thrill  ran  through  his  frame.  "  And 
this  —  her  face,  and  mine  ! "  —  and  the  miniature  slipped  from 
his  fingers  and  dropped  down  among  the  folds  of  Peace's  dress, 
while  large  beaded  drops  of  perspiration  stood  on  his  forehead. 
"  Her  face,  and  mine !  Mary  !  Mary !  why  do  you  haunt  me 
thus  ?  Go  away  ! " 

Peace  clasped  his  hands  between  hers. 

"  No,  no  !  Send  me  not  from  your  side  !  —  you  must  not  send 
me  away !  The  dead  cannot  return  —  bjit  the  living  kneel  to 
claim  your  love  !  " 

"  She  is  dead,  then  ?  Mary  is  dead  ?  "  moaned  Revere  hi  a 
hollow  tone. 

"  Yes,  she  is  dead,"  replied  Peace  sadly.  "  Seventeen  years 
ago,  on  a  dreary  winter's  night,  she  sought  the  dwelling  of  one 
whose  life  she  had  made  desolate.  She  died  there,  and  they 
wept*  over  her,  and  followed  her  to  her  grave  on  Wood  Hill  — 
and  cherished  tenderly  her  dying  legacy  —  a  poor,  tiny,  father- 
less child." 

Revere  had  risen  to  his  feet ;  his  grasp  on  Peace's  hands  was 
tight,  to  painfulness  even ;  his  breath  came  in  hurried  gasps ; 
two  dusky  circles  rimmed  his  eyes. 

"And  that  child?  —  that  child?"  he  gasped  in  a  thick 
tone.  "Before  Heaven,  I  did  not  know  of  this  until 'this 
hour  !  That  child  —  is  it,  as  my  heart  forebodes  —  is  it 
you?" 

"My  father.'" 

There  are  joys  and  sorrows  that  no  pen  can  portray  —  words 
that  no  pen  should  transcribe ;  nor  shall  mine  endeavor  to  depict 
that  interview.  But  memory,  and  a  fearful  remorse,  held  sway 
in  that  hour. 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  357 

The  paths  of  yesterday  can  never  be  trodden  again  —  how 
much  less  those  that  stretch  away  dimly  through  the  long  lapse 
of  vanished  years. 

Bordered  by  ruined  hopes  and  wasted  opportunities  —  marked 
by  dried  channels  wherein  once  flowed  Love's  sweet  waters  — 
here  a  sunken  mound  where  we  buried  a  perished  joy  and 
planted  the  white  roses  of  Memory  over  the  head-stone  —  there 
a  way-side  tree  of  Friendship,  under  whose  cooling,  grateful 
shade  we  lingered  when  the  sun  of  Disappointment  beat  fiercely 
down,  a  tuft  of  snowy  blossoms  we  plucked  in  innocent  child- 
hood, or  the  broken •  toys  we  threw  from  us  when  the  paths  of 
life  grew  steep  and  rugged  and  our  hands  were  outstretched  to 
cope  with  coming  dangers  and  life's  stern  realities  —  such  the 
paths  our  feet  have  climbed.  Alas  !  that  we  can  never  traverse 
them  agajn  ! 

Treading  down  the  sunset  slopes  of  life,  our  shadows  length- 
ening day  by  day,  only  in  Thought  can  we  retrace  the  travelled 
way  once  more.  Well  for  us,  if  the  trees  and  flowers  and  cool- 
ing streams  live  longest  in  our  hearts  !  Well  for  us,  if  Regret 
walk  not  hand  in  hand  with  Memory !  For 

"  Of  nil  sad  Words  of  tongue  or  pen. 
The  saddest  are  these  :  '  It  miyht  have  been  ! ' " 

Thus,  in  that  hour,  it  was  doubly  bitter  to  the  remorse-stricken 
man  who  bowed  his  tearful  face  on  the  golden  curls  oversweep- 
ing  his  breast,  to  reflect  that  Mary  Halpine  had  never  known, 
on  earth,  that  which  would  have  given  her  profoundest  happi- 
11(.  :S  — the  knowledge  that  she  was  indeed  a  true,  lawful 
wife. 

"You  wfll  come  again  to-morrow?"  asked  the  trembling 


358  PEACE  :     OB    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

man,  clinging  tightly  to  his  .child,  as  the  keeper  turned  the  key 
in,  the  cell-door  when  the  half-hour  had  expired. 

"  Yes,  my  father !  to-morrow,  and  next  day,  and  every  day, 
until  —  " 

"  Until  they  lead  me  forth  to  my  condemnation  !  "  interrupted 
the  despairing  man.  "My  daughter,  I  have  been  base  and 
wicked  —  but,  before  God,  I  declare  to  you  that  I  am  innocent 
of  this  crime  !  It  is  a  cursed  conspiracy  !  God  !  —  that  it 
should  have  come  to  this  —  bolts  and  bars,  and  a  prison- 
cell,  for  Augustus  Revere ! "  —  and  with  a  dash  of  passion- 
ate pride,  he  struck  the  hard  stone  walls  with  his  clenched 
hands.  "  I,  who  have  waded  in  luxury  for  years  —  I,  who 
have  looked  on  the  felon  as  a  Pariah  from  the  world  —  I, 
to  descend  to  the  level  of  thieves,  drunkards,  murderers!  — 
to  feel  the  disgrace  scorching  in  my  blood !  I  tell  you, 
it  is  hard ! "  —  and  he  strode  the  narrow  limits  of  his 
ceU. 

"  Yes,  it  is  hard  !  "  said  Peace  mournfully.  "  I  believe  you 
are  innocent  —  and  I  feel  fhat  you  will  be  saved  !  "  —  and  a 
flush  of  prophetic  inspiration  kindled  her  features,  as  she 
imprinted  a  kiss  on  Revere's  haggard  forehead,  then  glided 
away. 

As  Lucien  Palfrey  led  Peace  to  the  carriage,  his  eye  fell  on 
a  tall  female  form"  closely  muffled  in  a  rich  shawl  and  heavy 
veil,  leaning  against  a  column  of  the  vestibule.  Her  attitude 
betokened  weariness. 

"  My  good  woman,"  said  Palfrey,  returning,  "  can  I  do  any- 
thing for  you  ?  —  procure  you  admission  to  any  one  within  ?  — 
or,  perhaps  you  are  ill  ?  " 

The  woman  started,  and  drew  her  veil  closer  with  an  ema- 
ciated hand. 


PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL.  359 

"No,  no!  I  want  nothing!  —  I  am  not  ill!  Go  away  and 
leave  me  ! "  she  exclaimed  in  a  sharp,  querulous  voice.  "  Go 
away  —  Go!"  —  and  two  luminous  eyes  glittered  through  the 
folds  of  her  heavy  veil. 

"  Pardon  me  !  —  I  thought  I  might  be  of  service !  " —  and  Pal- 
frey turned  away. 

"  Yet  stay  !  "  she  cried.  "  They  call  this  terrible  place  '  The 
Tombs,' "  —  gazing  up  at  the  frowning  structure,  and  pointing 
one  long  slender  finger  whereon  flashed  a  blood  red  ruby  stone. 
"They  call  this  'The  Tombs!'  — Ha,  ha!  They  named  it 
rightly !  —  ha,  ha,  ha!"  —  and  her  laugh  was  short,  almost 
maniacal.  "  '  The  Tombs  ! '  "  she  continued  in  a  low,  hollow, 
musing  tone  —  "  no  sunlight,  no  flowers,  no  joy,  enters  here  — 
only  black  shadows  !  There  are  hearts  like  this  prison-house, 
too  —  where  the  great  black  door  of  Sin  shuts  out  the  music  and 
sunlight — Hope,  Joy,  Love  —  everything,  but  life'!  We  can- 
not kill  Memory,  you  know  !  "  —  and  she  shuddered.  "  But 
what  is  she  here  for?" — ~and  she  pointed  to  the  carriage. 
"  Why  did  you  bring  her  here  ?  This  is  no  place  for  the  young, 
and  beautiful,  and  beloved.  Take  her  away,  where  all  is  bright 
and  sunny,  and  these 'great  black  shadows  cannot  make  a  tomb 
of  her  young  heart ! "  —  and  she  turned  abruptly  and  glided 
past  him. 

"Some  poor,  half-crazed  woman  !"  said  Palfrey  compassion- 
ately, as  he  entered  the 'carriage.  "Oh,  Peace,  how  true 
that  one-half  the  world  knows  not  how  the  other  .  half 
live  ! " 

"  True,"  echoed  Peace  ;  but  in  her  great  happiness  she  had 
little  heed  for  the  woes  of  others  then. 

"  Such  a  revelation  !  Oh,  Dr.  Palfrey,  such  a  revela- 
tion !  "  she  exclaimed  excitedly,  her  flushed  checks  baling 
in  tears  like  rose-leaves  in  dew.  "A  brother!  —  Somewhere 


360        PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

I  have  a  brother  !  —  and  my  father,  too  —  he  is  my  own 
lawful  father!  I  thank  God  that  I  am  not  the  child  of 
shame ! "  —  and  a  passion  of  tears  relieved  her  overcharged 
heart. 


.CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

The  hope  is  crushed 

That  lit  my  life,  the  voice  within  me  hushed         * 
That  spoke  sweet  oracles. 

BYRON. 

A  THUNDER  tempest  hung  aloft  with  threatening  aspect. 
The  sun  had  died  in  a  bank  of  dull,  lurid  fire,  and  a  gjeat  black 
pall  was  spread  over  his  death  couch. 

Not  the  slightest  sound  broke  a  calm  as  profound  as  that 
preceding  the  hurricane  of  eastern  tropics  —  not  the  faintest 
chirp  of  a  bird,  or  the  whirr  of  an  insect;  all  Nature  lay  cowed, 
frightened,  at  the  betokened  elemental  strife. 

No  sound  upon  the  earthy  but  from  one  room  of  the  little 
"  Nest "  —  from  out  that  studio,  at  whose  western  window  Leafy 
Earle  had  sat  before  her  easel,-  or  sketched  the  valley,  river,  or 
sunset  sky  —  from  that  room,  on  the  still  air  of  that  hushed 
August  night,  came  stifling  sobs  laden  with  the  burthen  of  suffer- 
ing. Some  fearful  grief  must  have  steeped  her  young  heart  in 
bitterness,  for  the  girl  lay  prone  upon  a  couch  with  her  face 
buried  in  the  cushions  and  her  hands  locked  tightly  over  her 
heart.  She  was  not  weeping  —  for  tears  never  come  when  the 
heart  and  brain  are  seared ;  thus  every  sob,  coming  up  chok- 
ingly, gaspingly,  was  no  relief  to  her  agony.  White  and  heart- 
crushed,  she  lay  —  a  lily  broken  in  a  storm  —  a  singing  bird 
motionless  in  its  cage. 

The  little  studio  was  a  perfect  gem.  The  floor  was  covered 
with  a  tufted  carpet  where  the  roses  of  Cashmere  lay  imbedded 

31  (361) 


362  PEACE  :    OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

in  a  ground  of  purest  white ;  oval  pictures  leaned  down  from 
the  walls  ;  sofas  and  tabourets,  a  carved  table  strewn  with  port- 
folios and  elegantly  bound  books,  a  small  stand  at  the  south 
window  on  which  stood  a  vase  of  rare  flowers  and  a  little  inlaid 
writing-desk,  and  the  easel  at  the  western  casement,  completed 
its  furnishing.  f 

A  waxen  taper  burned  dimly  on  the  mantel,  shedding  a  faint 
glow  down  upon  the  easel  where  lay  an  unfinished  picture  — 
the  portrait  of  Hugh  Golding.  Leafy  Earle's  heart  had  painted 
that  likeness,  infusing  beauty  and  tenderness  and  goodness  into 
the  dark  face.  It  was  the  embodiment  of  her  ideal,  not  the  real, 
Hugh  Gliding. 

Mrs.  Earle  crossed  the  narrow  hall  and  looked  into  the  apart- 
ment. "  Why,  Leafy,  you  have  come,  then  ?  I  was  so  fright- 
ened lest  the  shower  should  overtake  you.  But  I  did  not  hear 
you  enter !  How  tired  you  are,  my  child  !  "  and  she  picked  up 
a  hat  and  mantle  from  the  carpet.  "  Poor  child !  I  knew  it, 
would  be  too  much  for  you  —  such  a  long  walk  from  the  landing, 
after  a  day  in  the  hot  city.  But  come,  dear,  I  have  kept  your 
tea  nice  and  hot.  Dear !  the  shower  will  break  before  long  — 
come  now,  child  !  " 

"  Please  don't,  mother !  "  she  said  in  a  hollow  voice  without 
raising  her  head. 

"  Dear  child,  you  are  sick !  I  will  bring  you  a  glass  of  wine," 
and  the  anxious  mother  returned  shortly.  "  Here,  darling,  you 
must  take  it !  " 

Leafy  rose  faintly ;  but  waived  the  glass  from  her  white 
lips. 

"  Why,  daughter,  how  pale  you  are !  What  is  it  ?  Speak, 
Leafy!  What  means  this?  Your  torn  dress  —  your  feet  so 
wet  ?  —  You  did  not  miss  the  path,  and  cross  the  swamp  ?  "  and 
she  removed  the  tiny  shoes  and  saturated  silken  hose  from  feet 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  363 

polished  and  cold  as  marble,  chafing  them  vigorously  with*  her 
hands.  "  How  did  you  come,  Leafy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  mother  —  I  hurried  and  hurried  on  —  for  I 
only  wanted  to  feel  your  arms  about  me  once  more.  —  You 
never  will  cast  me  out  ?  A  mother's  love  will  never  fail  her 
child  !  "  and  she  hid  her  face  in  her  mother's  lap. 

"  Leafy  —  Leafy  —  don't,  darling  !  You  are  ill !  The  day's 
journey  has  been  too  much  for  you  !  "  and  she  drew  the  bowed 
head  nearer  her  heart.  The  girl  stirred  not,  but  lay  in  a  heavy 
stupor. 

"  Leafy,  rouse  up  !  don't  sleep  now ! "  said  the  alarmed 
mother.  "  Tell  me  of  your  visit.  Did  you  sell  the  pictures  ? 
and  did  you  meet  Hugh  —  Mr.  Golding  ?  He  cannot  get  here 
to-night  in  the  storm.  Come,  rouse  up,  darling  !  " 

"  Mother,"  and  the  girl  raised  her  head  suddenly,  two  bright 
blood-red  spots  burning  on  her  cheeks,  "  Mother,  you  are  killing 
me  !  I  have  heard  words  to-day  that  almost  drove  me  mad.  I 
stood  in  the  picture-gallery  —  I  heard  him  speak  my  name  — 
with  laugh,  and  sneer,  and  careless  jest.  He  is  false,  mother  — 
false,  false  !  "  and  her  head  drooped  lower  on  the  tender  mater- 
nal bosom. 

Meantime  a  sudden  wind  went  sighing  through  the  trees  — 
herald  of  the  coming  tempest ;  and  a  heavy  burst  of  thunder 
smote  the  silence  with  prolonged  reverberations  that  seemed  to 
cleave  the  hills  to  their  bases ;  then,  with  a  sudden  rush,  the 
gates  of  the  heavens  were  unloosed,  and  down  came  the  torrent. 
—  Shrieking  through  the  ravines,  among  the  sturdy  pines, 
dashing  the  •  boughs  of  the  mountain  ash  together  and  tearing 
the  clinging  drapery  of  vines  from  the  rocks,  went  the  hum- 
cane  wind  ;  while  the  loosened  torrent  fell  in  a  whirling  mass  — 
now  trampling  full'  upon  the  window-panes,  now  striking  sharp 
and  slant  like  an  army  of  descending  arrows,  now  dying  into 


364  PEACE  :    OR   THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

momentary  lulls,  the  booming  thunder  chorus  filling  in  the 
pauses. 

"  Come,  Leafy,  you  must  go  to  bed,"  said  Mrs.  Earle  at 
length ;  and  she  lifted  the  slight  form  and  bore  it  into  an 
adjoining  bed-chamber,  and,  gently  disrobing  her,  laid  her  down 
upon  the  cool  white  pillows. 

"  My  poor,  poor  darling ! "  she  whispered,  binding  up  the 
long,  dishevelled  masses  of  hair  and  laving  her  burning  fore- 
head, "  try  and  forget  it  all.  Sleep  will  bring  calmness.  You 
are  not  afraid  of  the  tempest  ?  I  will  close  the  door,  and  leave 
you  to  quiet." 

"  Mother,"  and  Leafy  started  up,  bright  crimson  spots  burning 
on  her  cheeks,  and  dusky  circles  rimming  her  unnaturally  bril- 
liant eyes  —  "  Mother,  I  cannot  forget !  Do  not  think  this  a 
light  thing !  it  is  killing  me  !  —  I  have  loved  him  better  than 
my  mother  —  better  than  my  Maker  —  and  what  I  heard  this 
day  has  broken  my  heart.  Yes,  it  is  killing  me !  —  and, 
mother  dear,  if  I  should  die  to-night "  —  and  she  tightly  held 
her  hands  and  drew  her  down  to  the  pillows  —  "  if  God  should 
send  His  messenger  and  take  away  my  breath,  thank  Him  that 
He  saved  your  child.  For  mother,  mother,"  and  a  scarlet 
blush  dyed  her  blue-veined  temples,  and  she  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands,  "  I  thank  God  I  have  withstood  temptation  !  —  bless 
Him  for  that !  —  and,  should  I  die  to-night,  be  thankful  that 
your  child  goes  down  to  her  grave  as  pure  and  stainless  as 
you  clasped  her,  a  baby,  to  your  bosom  !  —  There,  kiss  me, 
mother  —  and  go  now,  —  for  my  head  is  burning,  and  oh, 
so  tired  !  —  I  shall  sleep,  perhaps  !  good  night !  "  —  and,  awed 
into  obedience,  Mrs.  Earle  pressed  her  lips  to  the  flushed 
forehead  and  glided  from  the  room. 

All  that  livelong  night  the  thunder  tempest  deepened,  and 
lurid  lightning  flashes  alternated  with  the  thick,  inky  darkness ; 


PEACE  :    OK   THE   STOLEN   WILL.  365 

but  darker  folds  than  veiled  the  heavens  shrouded  the  soul  of 
that  poor   girl,  alone   with  her  desolation,  —  for  Despair  sat. 
crouching  in  her  heart,  and  Madness  came,  with  long,  spectral 
fingers  clutching  at  her  weary  brain.     Alas,  poor  Leafy  Earle ! 


81* 


CHAPTER    XL. 

"  Little  do  we  know  of  fate  ; 
Perhaps  our  fortune  is  not  in  our  power.  . 

We  are  the  sport  and  plaything  of  high  heaven." 

IN  the  court-room  of  the  City  Hall  the  trial  of  Augustus 
Eevere  was  going  on.  It  was  crowded  almost  to  suffocation; 
for  the  name  and  station  of  the  prisoner  alone,  had  he  been 
arraigned  for  a  lesser  crime  than  that  with  which  he  stood 
charged,  would  have  brought  thither  men  who  rarely  left  their 
mercantile  sphere  to  enter  the  halls  of  Justice.  The  jury  were 
empanelled  —  the  judges  on  the  bench  —  the  lawyers  in  their 
seats  —  and  the  reporters  at  their  desks  with  ready  pens  awaited 
the  opening  of  the  case. 

"  It  will  go  hard  with  the  prisoner  !  " 

Everybody  said  so  ;  not  only  the  rabble,  who  clustered  about 
the  steps  of  the  building  to  obtain  a  look  at  the  "  bank  robber  " 
as  he  descended  the  carriage,  and  pressed  close  upon  the  officers 
when  they  led  him  into  the  court-room,  but  the  dense  crowd 
within,  and  the  group  of  merchants  among  whom  that  pale, 
haggard  man  in  tfie  prisoner's  box  had  mingled  for  years  ;  and 
when  the  District  Attorney  rose  and  opened  the  case  —  bringing 
all  the  keenness  and  power  of  his  acknowledged  forensic  ability 
to  bear  upon  it,  touching  briefly  upon  the  strong  web  of  circum- 
stantial evidence  he  proposed  shortly  to  present  before  the  Court 
• —  a  web,  from  whose  meshes  the  prisoner  could  not  hope  for 
extrication  —*•  then  closed  with  a  short,  but  effective  peroration 
on  the  magnitude  of  the  crime,  and  the  necessity  that  the  high 

(366) 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        367 

station  of  the  accused  should  avail  nothing  with  the  honorable 
jurors  whose  office  was  to  weigh  alike  high  and  low,  rich  and 
poor,  in  the  scales  of  impartial  Law  —  then,  as  the  Attorney  sat 
down,  scarce  a  soul  in  that  vast  auditory  but  unhesitatingly 
whispered  "  Revere  is  guilty !  Let  him  suffer  the  penalty  of 
the  law ! " 

The  first  witness  brought  to  the  stand  was  Revere's  in-door 
man  ;  and  after  being  duly  sworn,  the  prosecuting  attorney  put 
to  him  a  few  queries. 

"  Was  your  employer,  the  man  in  the  prisoner's  box,  absent 
from  his  home  on  the  night  of  June  thirtieth  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  was." 

"  Do  you  know  the  hour  of  his  return  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  go  to  bed  until  twelve.  —  Mr.  Revere  was  not  in 
then.  Was  never  in  the  habit  of  sitting  up  for  him,  as  he 
always  used  a  night  key." 

"  Was  he  often  from  home  nights  —  and  do  you  know  where 
his  evenings  were  spent  ?  " 

•  "  He  was  away  a  good  deal.  "We  always  thought  him  at  the 
store.  I  have  heard  him  say  business  was  bad,"  replied  the 
honest  man,  striving  to  shield  the  master  whom  'he  felt  that  his 
words  were  used  to  condemn. 

"  Was  there  any  window,  or  door,  left  unfastened,  whereby,  if 
the  prisoner  had  enemies,  they  might  have  entered  and  deposited 
the  bills  found  in  his  desk  ?  " 

The  man  hesitated.  The  temptation  was  strong ;  but  his  lips 
could  not  frame  a  lie. 

"  There  was  not,"  he  answered.  "  It  was  my  duty  to  attend 
to  the  house.  That  night  I  fastened  up  before  I  went  to  bed  — 
I  remember  it  stormed  fast." 

"  Had  your  employer  ever,  in  your  hearing,  exchanged  hard 
words  with  any  visitor  ?  Do  you  know  of  any  enemies,  who 
would  have  been  likely  to  injure  him  ?  " 


368        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

"  No  sir !  Lately,  nobody  ever  came  to  the  house.  He  sat 
alone,  in  the  library,  when  at  home." 

"  Had  you  perceived,  on  the  day  of  the  robbery,  or  at  any 
time  previous,  any  unusual  anxiety,  or  agitation,  in  the  manner 
of  the  prisoner  ?  " 

«  No  sir." 
.    "  That  will  do,"  said  the  attorney. 

Several  other  witnesses,  who  had  been  hunted  up  by  the 
indefatigable  lawyer,  were  then  produced  ;  one,  a  hackman  who 
testified  that  he  had  taken  up  the  prisoner  in  the  vicinity  of  his 
residence  early  on  the  evening  in  question,  and  left  him  at  his 
store  ;  —  another,  who  swore  to  having  often  seen  Revere  play 
deeply  —  had  seen  him  lose  five  hundred  dollars  at  Delmonte's 
on  the  night  of  the  burglary,  followed  by  the  stake  of  his  gold 
watch  and  chain  —  then  he  had  rushed  abruptly  from  the 
saloon. 

Then  came  one  or  two  merchants,  who  gave  evidence  that 
the  signature  on  the  torn  paper  found  in  the  vault  of  the  Bank 
was  in  the  accused's  handwriting ;  followed  by  the  testimony  of 
the  police  who  found  the  secreted  bills  hi  Revere's  mansion,  and 
that  of  the  Bank  officers,  proving  the  identity  of  the  marked 

bills. 

• 

Then  the  Attorney  closed  the  prosecution  in  behalf  of  the 
State.  Basing  his  inference  of  the  prisoner's  guilt  on  the  strong 
chain  of  circumstantial  evidence  presented  ;  —  adducing  his  ab- 
sence from  home  on  the  night  of  the  robbery,  his  frenzied  rush 
from  the  gaming-table  where  he  had  vainly  endeavored  to 
retrieve  his  fallen  fortune,  and  the  fact  of  his  being  on  the  verge 
of  bankruptcy,'  which  was  confirmed  by  his  strenuous  effort?,  for 
several  days  previous,  to  obtain  money  from  the  brokers  at  enor- 
mous percentages ;  —  proceeding  to  show  that  the  scheme  of  the 
burglary  had  been  calculated  upon,  from  the  certainty  that  the 


PEACE  :    OR   THE   STOLEN   WILL.  3G9 

key  of  the  safe  must  heave  been  obtained  before  the  occupation 
of  the  vault  —  and  how,  in  a  moment  of  desperation,  favored 
by  the  darkness  of  a  stormy  night,  he  had  rushed  from  dissipa- 
tion to  the  committal  of  crime  ;  —  dwelling  on  each  and  every 
circumstance,  linking  them  into  a  subtle  chain  whose  every  fold 
gathered  closer  about  the  unhappy  Revere  ;  —  no  wonder  that  a 
hush  settled  down  on  the  crowd,  and,  looking  into  each  other's 
faces,  they  whispered  "  He  is  guilty ! " 

The  counsel  for  the  prisoner  arose. 

He  was  a  young  man  ;  but,  though  his  name  had  not  long 
been  recorded  on  the  roll  of  admitted  practitioners,  he  had 
already  made  his  mark,  —  for  he  was  no  other  than  the  son  of  a 
judge  upon  the  bench  —  Louis  Howland.  But  as  he  stood  up 
before  the  dense  assemblage  who  had  already  passed  the  silent 
sentence  of  condemnation  upon  the  prisoner  —  with  pale  face, 
earnest,  anxious  eye,  and  tightly  compressed  lips  —  he  had  more 
of  the  air  of  a  desperate  man,  about  to  battle  a  desperate  cau.-e, 
than  one  in  a  secure  and  tenable  position.  And  this  was  so. 

"  It  is  an  almost  hopeless  case,"  said  Louis  Howland,  after  his 
first  interview  with  the  prisoner  in  the  Tombs,  "  but,  Peace,  if 
there  be  any  legal  chicanery  by  which  the  strong  chain  of  cir- 
cumstances can  be  rent  asunder,  depend  upon  it,  it  shall  not 
remain  unemployed.  For,  on  my  soul,  I  believe  him  to  be  an 
innocent  man  :  —  the  victim  of  a  foul  conspiracy,  but  one  diffi- 
cult to  prove." 

Louis  Howland  had  straightway  visited  the  Prison  after  lis- 
tening to-the  astounding  revelation  Peace  made  to  the  home 
circle  ;  and,  in  his  noble  offer  to  undertake  her  father's  defence, 
when  he  returned  from  that  interview  —  an  offer  approved  by 
the  hearty  "  Good  !  my  brave  boy !  "  of  Judge  Holland,  and 
Grab's  tearful  sympathies  —  the  grateful  girj  read  another  proof 
of  his  disinterested  devotion. 


370        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

"  Oh,  how  can  I  ever  repay  you  ? "  she  exclaimed  warmly 
and  excitedly,  as  he  passed  her  in  the  hall  preparatory  to  going 
down  to  his  office. 

"  By  making  Dr.  Palfrey  happy,"  he  replied  in  a  low,  im- 
pressive voice.  "  Peace,"  he  added  with  a  slight  flush,  "  had  I 
known  then,  what  I  read  to  day  in  his  anxious,  watchful  de- 
meanor, I  should  never  have  lain  my  heart  open  to  you  —  but 
you  will  bury 'the  past.  Give  me  a  sister's  love  —  and  make 
him  happy ! " 

And  now  —  shivering  from  head  to  foot,  clasping  the  railing 
of  the  bench  before  her  for  support  as  Louis  Rowland  arose  to 
plead  her  father's  desperate  cause  —  Peace  sat  between  the  two 
who  had  accompanied  her 'thither  to  the  crowded  court-room  — 
Orah  Rowland  and  Dr.  Palfrey. 

Save  those  two,  there  were  no  other  females  in  the  court ; 
and  vet,  not  so,  —  for,  as  the  young  counsel  arose  —  pushing 
through  the  dense  crowd  came  two  other  forms  —  one,  closely 
veiled,  and  with  the  folds  of  a  rich  crape  shawl  drooping  limp 
over  tie  outline  of  thin  but  symmetrical  shoulders,  —  and  her 
companion,  a  neat  mulattress,  following  closely  her  mistress,  who 
sank  down  upon  a  bench  only  separated  from  Revere  by  the 
railing  of  the  prisoner's  box.  And,  as  the  tall,  veiled  woman 
sank  down  with  head  bent  upon  her  breast,  and  thin  white  fin- 
gers playing  nervously  with  the  heavy  netted  fringes  of  her 
shawl,  a  dark-featured  man  who  sat  beside  her  drew  a  slouched 
hat  farther  over  his  eyes.  •  • 

There  was  a  pause  before  the  counsel  for  the  defejjce  began 
—  during  which,  like  a  young  knight  buckling  on  his  armor 
before  going  forth  to  battle,  Louis  Rowland  briefly  gathered 
about  him  his  little  web  of  arguments  — ^-  resolved  to  fight  right 
manfully  in  behalf  of  the  apparently  doomed  man. 

"  Your  Honors,"  he  commenced ;  but  hardly  had  the  words 


PEACE  :    OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  371 

fallen,  before  an  officer  of  the  police  stationed  near  the  door 
pressed  hastily  through  the  crowd,  and  delivered  a  note  into  his 
hands.  Pausing  a  moment  to  peruse  it,  a  rapid  flush  went  over 
the  young  attorney's  face,  the  cloud  cleared  from  his  brow  —  he 
whispered  briefly  to  the  officer,  who  immediately  went  out  and 
presently  re-appeared  followed  by  a  tall  young  man  whose  fea- 
tures were  concealed  by  a  heavy  brimmed  hat,  whom  he  ushered 
to  a  seat  in  the  witnesses'  bench. 

Rowland  now  went  on,  speaking  rapidly  and  triumphantly. 

"  Your  Honors  and  gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  T  have  little  to 
say  —  I  need  say  but  little,  in  my  client's  behalf.  I  need  not 
enter  into  a  lengthy  plea,  to  unravel  the  apparently  complicated 
web  woven  so  skilfully  by  my  legal  opponent  —  it  were  useless 
to  draw  the  sword  of  argument,  to  clash  against  the  weapons 
which  he  has  wielded  so  valiantly  —  I  only  hurl  a  single  spear, 
diamond-pointed  by  Truth.  But,  gentlemen,  let  me  deal  in  met- 
aphors no  longer  —  for  the  time  is  wasted  that  withholds  from 
you  the  proof  that  yonder  prisoner  is  the  victim  of  an  infamous 
conspiracy  —  in  short,  is,  as"  I  propose  to.  briefly  show  you,  an 
innocent  man  !  " 

During  this  little  exordium,  Peace  had  risen  breathlessly, 
leaning  forward,  tightly  grasping  the  railing ;  the  woman  on  the 
bench  started  suddenly,  then  sank  into  her  old  drooping,  hope- 
less posture ;  the  man  beside  her  smothered  a  curse  upon  his 
lips,  turned  pale,  and  quietly  slipped  away  among  the  crowd ; 
while  the  prisoner  raised  his  bowed  head  from  the  railing  before 
him,  and  seemed  inspired  with  something  of  that  sudden  confi- 
dence infused  into  his  counsel's  words  and  manner. 

"  Insufferable !  "  whispered  the  State  Attorney  to  a  brother 
lawyer,  with  a  smile  of  contempt.  "  The  conceit  of  these  young 
sprigs  is  incredible !  What  witness  has  he  picked  up  now,  I 
wonder  ?  "  — -  then  settled  back  into  his  seat  again. 


372        PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

Rowland  nodded  toward  the  witness's  bench,  and  its  occupan* 
arose.  His  eye  did  not  rove  abroad  over  the  dense  mass  of 
human  beings  who  breathlessly  viewed  this  new  witness,  but 
drooped  downward  to  the  floor.  His  face  was  haggard  and  care- 
worn. A  sudden  whisper  ran  through  the  crowd. 

"  Carl  Linn,  the  actor  !  " 

Orah  Rowland's  breath  came  thickly,  and  she  drew  her  veil. 
The  Attorney  nervously  shifted  his  position  ;  the  reporters 
paused  with  uplifted  pens ;  and  the  lawyers  and  jury  leaned  for- 
ward. The  court  was  still  as  death. 

"  Your  name  ?  "  asked  the  examining  lawyer,  after  the  wit- 
ness was  sworn. 

The  reporters  dipped  their  pens  afresh. 

"  I  am  known  as  Jasper  Golding"  he  replied  in  a  low  hard 
voice. 

Looks  of  surprise  were  rife  among  the  crowd. 

"  Look  upon  the  prisoner.    Have  you  ever  seen  him  before  ?  " 

At  Jasper's  first  appearance  on  the  stand,  Revere  had  re- 
garded him  with  a  bewildered  expression.  The  years  that  had 
fled  since  the  father  looked  upon  his  boy  in  the  parlor  of  the 
academy  boarding-house  had  swept  away  every  likeness  of  the 
frank,  genial,  sunny-haired  youth,  and  brought  instead  the  pale, 
care-traced  features  of  the  man.  But  when  that  name,  "  Jasper- 
Golding,"  was  uttered,  Revere  sprang  up  with  extended  arms 
as  if  he  would  fain  have  clasped  him.  But  Jasper  smiled  —  a 
bitter,  scornful  smile — and  folded  his  own  arms  resolutely  across 
his  breast.  That  gesture  thrust  him  out ;  and  the  unhappy  man 
sank  back,  covering  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  His  own  child  had 
rejected  him ! 

"  You  know  the  prisoner  ? "  again  queried  the  lawyer,  when 
this  brief  pantomimic  scene,  on  which  the  court  looked  with 
astonished  gaze,  was  over." 

"Yes!" 


PEACE  :     OR    THE    STOLEN    WILL.  373 

The  monosyllable  was  cold  and  hard,  and  fell  on  men's  hearts 
like  iron. 

"  When  did  you  last  see  him  ?  " 

"  On  the  night  of  the  thirtieth  of  June." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  First,  in  C Street ;  after  that,  at  his  own  house." 

"  Will  you  repeat  to  the  court  what  took  place  there  which 
jii.ty  go  to  prove  or  disprove  the  alleged  crime  of  the  prisoner?" 

Jasper  spoke  laconically,  and  in  a  Ipw,  clear  voice.  You 
might  have  heard  a  pin  drop  in  the  court,  so  profound  the 
silence. 

"  It  was  late  on  the  night  of  the  thirtieth  of  June,  or  rather 
on  the  morning  of  the  first  of  July  —  for  three  o'clock  had 
struck.  I  was  returning  from  the  law  office,  where  I  had 
remained  copying  papers.'  In  passing  Delmonte's  gambling 
saloon,  Mr.  Revere  stepped  out  just  before  me.  His  manner 
was  excited  —  I  followed  him.  The  rain  was  falling  in  tor- 
rents. I  entered  his  mansion  behind  him.  I  went  into  his 
library  close  upon  his  steps." 

"  And  why  did  you  steal  into  the  prisoner's  house  at  dead  of 
night  ?  "  interrupted  the  State  Attorney. 

A  peculiarly  bitter  smile  crept  about  the  witness's  lips. 
&  "  Curiosity,  sir,  solely !  Wanted  to  take  a  peep  upon  the 
merchant  prince  in  his  sanctum !  I  had  heard  that  the  inner 
lives  of  such  men  differ  greatly  from  their  outer!"  —  and  he 
fixed  his  eye  on  Revere's.  "  Mere  idle  curiosity,  sir,  —  upon 
my  honor ! " 

There  was  something  in  the  cool,  easy,  almost  reckless  audac- 
ity of  tliis^  reply,  that  quite  took  away  the  attorney's  desire  for 
questioning  the  witness  further. 

"  What  followed  ? "  asked  Howland,  with  a  triumphant  glance 
toward  the  crest-fallen  lawyer. 

32 


374  PEACE  :     OK    THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

"  Mr.  Revere  lighted  a  lamp  upon  the  mantel ;  his  face  was 
pale ;  he  uttered  words  by  which  I  learned  that  he  had  lost  his 
last  dollar  at  the  gaming  table.  Afterwards  he  grew  calmer  — 
went  into  an  adjoining  room  —  and  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep. 
Then  I  left  my  hiding-place  among  the  window-curtains,  and  sat 
down  in  the  chair  he  left  before  the  grate.  Perhaps  an  hour 
passed  —  the  heavy  breathings  of  the  sleeper  came  from  the 
adjoining  room  —  I  had  risen  to  leave,  when  a  sharp  click  of 
the  outer  door-lock  arrested  me.  The  library  door  leading  into 
the  hall  stood  ajar  —  when  I  heard  the  key  turn  in  the  lock  my 
first  thought  was  of  house-breakers,  and  I  stepped  back  into  my 
concealment.  A  man  entered  the  hall  stealthily,  then  stepped 
into  the  library.  He  paused  —  listened,  with  his  ear  in  the 
direction  of  the  bed-chamber,  like  one  familiar  with  the  house  — 
took  up  the  night-lamp  —  drew  near  a  desk  by  the  window 
where  I  stood  concealed.  The  key  was  in  the  lock  —  he  took  a 
roll  of  bills  from  his  own  pocket-book  and  laid  them  in  an  inner 
drawer  of  the  desk  —  turned  the  key —  replaced  the  lamp  upon 
the  mantel  —  listened  again  at  the  door  whence  issued  the  heavy 
respirations  of  the  sleeper  —  then  crept  stealthily  out,  closing 
the  street  door  gently.  Ten  minutes  after,  I  followed  him." 

"  Did  you  see  this  man's  face  ? "  asked  Rowland  in  the 
breathless  pause  that  followed. 

« I  did." 

"  Who  was  he  ?  " 

The  judges  leaned  forward ;  the  lawyers  and  jury  rose,  to  a 
man ;  the  reporters  lifted  their  eager  eyes,  and  poised  their  pens 
over  the  paper ;  a  strong  hand  held  Peace,  or  she  would  have 
fallen ;  and  the  living  tide  surged  forward  in  the  court-room  like 
a  great  upheaved  sea-wave. 

"  Witness,  his  name  !  " 

"Hugh  Golding." 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  375 

There  was  a  great  sensation  in  the  court  —  a  sudden  expira- 
tion of  a  thousand  breaths  —  then  the  tide  flowed  back  to  its 
channel  again.  The  Judge's  charge  was  uttered  in  a  few  words  ; 
the  jury  did  not  retire,  but,  after  a  brief  consultation,  sat  down. 
All  was  still. 

"  Prisoner,  stand  up  and  face  the  jury  !  " 

Revere  stood  up. 

"  Guilty  or  not  guilty,  Mr.  Foreman  ?  " 

"  Not  guilty  !  " 

A  loud  huzza  rang  through  the  court-room,  and  the  heavy 
stamping  of  men's  feet  sent  up  a  cloud  of  white  dust  that  quite 
hid  the  heaving,  pressing  throng ;  but  louder  than  the  shouts  of 
the  excited  multitude  rang  out  a  shrill  cry. 

"  It  is  Peace.  Joy  has  overcome  her !  "  said  Louis  Howland, 
bounding  away  from  the  crowd  pressing  against  the  prisoner's 
box.  But  no  !  On  his  way  he  met  the  pale,  tearful  girl  sup- 
ported by  Dr.  Palfrey  and  his  sister.  Too  grateful  and  excited 
for  words,  she  mutely  pressed  his  hand. 

"  Make  way  !  —  a  lady  has  fainted  ! "  cried  a  gentleman, 
bearing  in  the  direction  of  an  open  window  the  form  of  the 
veiled  woman  who  had  crouched  down  near  the  prisoner's 
box  during  the  trial.  "  Bring  water ! "  and  he  flung  back  her 
veil. 

"  The  same  woman  I  saw  at  the  Tombs ! "  said  Dr.  Palfrey 
mechanically. 

But  Augustus  Revere  had  heard  that  cry ;  and,  springing 
past  them  all  —  motioning  back  the  crowd  —  kneeling  down 
where  they  had  lain  her  on  a  bench  near  the  window  —  drawing 
her  head  to  his  bosom  and  tenderly  sweeping  back  the  long 
waves  of  midnight  hair  from  her  pallid,  shrunken  temples,  he 
whispered  huskily,  "  Julie  —  my  wife  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  heard  yesterday  that  she  was  released  from  the  Asy- 


S7G        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

lum  over  a  week  ago,"  said  a  bystander.  "  Poor  woman ! 
Here  comes  her  faithful  slave  !  "  —  and  the  mulattress,  Minnie, 
knelt  down  beside  her. 

When  the  decision  of  the  jury  had  been  pronounced,  Jasper 
Golding  pressed  out  through  the  swaying  crowd.  In  the  vesti- 
bule, he  became  wedged  among  the  human  mass  pressing  in  from 
the  outer  doors.  Close  at  his  side,  striving  like  himself  to  effect 
an  egress,  with  heavy  hat  shading  his  dark  features,  stood  a  tall 
figure.  Side  by  side  they  went  out  together,  and  stood  a 
moment  on  the  pavement.  Their  eyes  met. 

"  Nay,  put  up  your  weapon ! "  said  Jasper  in  a  rapid  whis- 
per, for  the  inlaid  butt  of  a  revolver  was  in  the  hand  the  tall 
man  had  partially  withdrawn  from  his  bosom.  "  Put  that  up, 
Hugh  Golding !  You  would  not  dare  shoot  me  here,  —  for  a 
dozen  officers  would  arrest  you  ere  you  had  taken  ten  steps.  I 
will  not  harm  you.  Go  !  if  your  life  is  worth  aught  to  you  — • 
go  quickly ! " 

The  humiliated  man  crept  away. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

Many  a  peril  have  I  passed, 
Nor  know  I  why  this  next  appears  the  last ! 
Yet  so  my  heart  forebodes,  but  must  not  fear. 

BYKON'S  CORSAIR. 


Into  the  Silent  Land  ! 

Ah  !  who  shall  lead  her  thither? 

Clouds  in  the  evening  sky  more  darkly  gather, 

And  shattered  wrecks  lie  thicker  on  the  strand. 

Who  leads  her  with  a  gentle  hand 

Thither,  O  thither, 

Into  the  Silent  Land  ? 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  SALIS. 

THE  large  and  superb  horse  that  Hugh  Golding  rode  walked 
slowly  up  the  hill-path  leading  to  the  Nest.  The  loosened 
bridle  rein  lay  over  his  arching  neck. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  day  of  the  trial.  As  Golding  rode 
slowly  up  the  narrow  hill-path  —  now  among  the  dark  shadows 
of  overhanging  firs,  now  out  into  some  open  space  where  the 
bright  starlight  lay  clear  and  unflecked  and  the  light  winds 
lifted  his  hair  —  his  brow  unknitted,  his  eye  softened,  and 
thoughts  that  were  long  strangers  flitted  through  his  brain. 

Certainly  he  seemed  wonderfully  self-possessed  in  that  hour 
of  danger,  when  he  knew  the  emissaries  of  the  law  were  upon 
his  track  ;  and  yet,  this  coolness  was  quite  in  character  with  his 
whole  career. 

"  They  will  not  seek  me  here,"  he  reasoned.  "  No  one  but 
Smyth  knows  about  it  —  and  he  will  not  betray  me.  Mean- 

32*  (377) 


378        PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

time,  leagues  of  ocean  shall  lie  between  me  and  the  hounds  of 
the  law.  Ha !  ha !  Augustus  Revere  —  and,  ingrate  whom  I 
fostered  as  my  child  —  I  shall  escape  ye  both !  Beyond  the 
waters,  with  the  singing  bird  I  shall  lure  to  a  summer  nest,  I 
can  laugh  at  Fate,  and  take  gratefully  the  good  the  gods  have 
provided  for  me ! "  and  a  contemptuous  laugh  disturbed  the 
still  night  air.  "Ha!  ha!  there  are  stores  of  gold  in  my 
coffers  the  hand  of  the  '  burglar '  never  touched !  That  plot 
was  a  failure  :  and  now  I  must  save  my  neck  from  the  halter  ! 
—  But  a  truce  to  fear  to-night !  Leafy  —  Leafy  !  I  must 
never  seek  your  presence  in  a  mood  like  this !  "  and  his  eye 
softened. 

Notwithstanding  the  doctrine  of  total  depravity,  let  us  most 
firmly  believe,  that  never  yet  was  there  nature  so  bedim- 
med  by  evil,  but  sometime  grew  illumined  by  rays  emanat- 
ing from  a  purer  moral  atmosphere ;  and  yet,  there  was  little 
to  commend  in  the  resolve  of  that  man's  heart,  as,  riding  slowly 
toward  the  Nest,  he  said  with  honesty  of  intention,  "  This  night 
will  I  ask  Leafy  to  become  my  wife  ! "  From  the  artist-girl's 
pure  soul,  temptation  had  fallen,  as  the  rain  is  shed  from  the 
oiled  plumage  of  a  bird :  and  so  he  murmured  as  he  rode  along, 
"  Well,  well  —  I  have  sins  enough  on  my  shoulders  to  bear,  and 
will  add  no  more  to  the  list,  but  woo  and  win  her  fairly  !  —  after 
all,  she  is  a  glorious  girl  —  beautiful,  fresh,  and  pure  as  a  water- 
lily  !  What  the  devil  made  me  speak  of  her  so  lightly  to 
Smyth  yesterday,  I  wonder  ?  Confound  the  fellow !  I  wish 
he'd  not  always  meet  me  with  his  winks  and  shrugs  and  smiles  ! 
It  makes  a  man  say  what  he  wouldn't  think  of !  —  But  Jove  ! 
I'm  getting  over  nice  !  —  it  can  never  come  to  her  ears,  nor 
harm  her  —  for  my  bird  seldom  leaves  her  cage." 

In  that  hour  —  with  unknitted  brows,  lips  relaxed  into  a 
smile,  and  even  a  dreamy  softness  in  his  midnight  eyes,  giving 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        379 

token  of  the  fascinations  he  might  have  possessed  in  his  better 
moods  —  Hugh  Golding's  face  was  very  like  the  unfinished  por- 
trait which  lay  upon  the  easel  in  the  studio  —  the  face  Leafy 
Earle  had  always  seen  ;  —  every  feature  —  the  cold  eye,  the 
cynical  smile  of  the  sensual  lips  —  toned  down  to  deceptive 
tenderness. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  villain  long  enough,  Heaven  knows  !  "  he 
mused,  "  and  certainly,  Conscience  hasn't  troubled  me  overmuch 
with  her  qualms.  I  think  I  must  be  minus  that  monitor,"  and 
he  laughed  lightly.  "  But  why  the  devil  can't  I  reform  ?  It 
strikes  me  that,  when  a  man  begins  to  get  gray  hairs  into  his 
head,"  and  he  ran  his  white  fingers  lightly  through  his  locks, 
their  raven  hue  sparsely  flecked  with  silver  threads  — "  it's 
about  time  he  should  turn  Methodist  and  Benedict.  But  I 
wonder,  if,  after  all,  I  shall  live  contented  ?  "  and  the  habitual 
scornful  curve  deepened  *  about  his  lips.  "  'Fore  heaven,  I 
couldn't  endure  a  tame  life  !  I'd  rather  put  a  bullet  through  my 
brain.  —  Bah !  what  put  that  ugly  idea  into  my  head,  I  won- 
der ?  "  and  he  slightly  shuddered,  gazing  over  his  shoulder  into 
the  dusky  gloaming.  —  "  Pshaw  !  "  touching  his  horse's  flank 
with  his  riding-whip,  "  I'm  getting  nervous  !  else  that  old  For- 
tune-teller's words  wouldn't  rush  uppermost  into  my  mind,  where 
they've  slept  these  ten,  aye,  fifteen  years.  I  was  younger,  then. 
The  old  hag !  how  her  snake  eyes  glittered,  because  I  stole  a 
kiss  from  her  pretty  daughter !  Let  me  see  —  her  curse  ran 
after  this  fashion,  l  Her  you  would  wed,  shall  briny  you  to  your 
doom!  '  The  old  crone  !  —  But  strange,  it  should  come  up  to- 
night! If  I  were  superstitious,  I  should  say  it  was  a  warning. 
—  Well,  after  all  it  can  do  no  harm  to  hurry  our  flight.  The 
Law  has  Argus  eyes,  and  it  will  need  all  my  caution  to  elude 
it.  The  foreign  steamer  must  have  us  on  board  to-morrow. 
Come,  Selim,  we  must  be  no  laggards  now ! "  and  the  noble 
animal  quickened  his  pace  toward  the  Nest. 


380  PEACE  :     OR   THE    STOLEN    WILL. 

A  countless  myriad  of  stars  twinkled  in  the  heavens ;  and 
the  young  moon  timidly  climbed  her  way  from  the  western 
horizon  whence  the  sunset  splendors  had  not  wholly  faded. 
Faint  streaks  of  gold  and  amber  lay  about  the  bed  of  trailing 
clouds  whereon  the  sun  had  died,  loath  to  Jeave  the  fair  green 
earth,  over  which  he  had  all  day  stood  sentinel.  But  at  length 
the  sunset  glories  grew  fainter  ;  the  vestal  Queen  trode  her  way 
with  firmer  steps,  flinging  down  a  royal  largess  of  silver  to  her 
subject,  Earth. 

But,  at  the  western  window,  gazing  afar  on  the  horizon's  rim, 
or  watching  the  crescent  moon's  ascent  into  fair  fields  of  heaven, 
stood  no  artist-girl  with  dreamy  eye ;  nor  in  the  vine-covered 
door-way  or  latticed  porch,  awaiting  her  lover's  approach,  as  she 
had  always  stood  of  erst.  And,  catching  no  glimpse  of  her 
fluttering  white  robes,  the  rider  exclaimed  disappointedly, 

"  She  is  not  awaiting  me  !  I'faith  —  a  bad  augury  for  me  ! 
On,  Selim ! " 

His  foot  crossed  the  threshold. 

"  Leafy !  "     The  name  echoed  through  the  little  hall. 

"  Leafy !  "     But  no  response  came. 

He  crossed  the  passage  and  entered  the  little  studio. 

Pictures,  books  and  flowers,  were  as  at  his  last  visit ;  the  easel 
stood  at  the  western  window ;  a  lamp  burning  dimly  on  the 
mantel,  revealed  the  portrait. 

"  Dear  child  !  "  he  murmured,  pausing  beside  it,  a  smile  upon 
his  lip. 

Again  he  spoke  —  "  Leafy !  " 

A  step  came.     He  turned ;  it  was  Mrs.  Earle. 

"  Good  evening !  And  where  is  my  pet  ?  "  he  asked,  extend- 
ing his  hand. 

No  reply  came,  nor  was  the  proffered  hand  taken  ;  but  no 
marble  could  have  been  whiter  than  the  woman's  face. 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  381 

"  You  do  not  answer !  Is  Leafy  ill  ?  "  and  he  took  a  step 
toward  the  adjoining  chamber. 

"  Hugh  Golding,  come  here ! "  and  she  paused  beside  the 
easel  —  "  come  here.  Is  this  your  face  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Golding  with  a  smile.  "  Love  is  a  flatterer, 
though  I  "  he  added. 

" Love !'  love !"  echoed  Mrs.  Earle  bitterly.  "Oh,  traitor, 
fiend,  devil !  That  I  could  thus  blot  out  every  memory  of 
you  ! "  and  with  a  quick  gesture  she  seized  a  brush,  dipped  it 
into  a  mixture  fresh  upon  the  palette,  and  drew  it  across  the 
canvas. 

Hugh  Golding  stood  enraged.  "  Madam  —  madam  !  "  he 
said,  "  you  are  mad !  Has  your  daughter  sent  you  with  these 
insulting  words  ?  By  heaven  !  if  I  thought  so  — "  and  his 
eye  grew  stern. 

"  Mad  ?  no ! "  and  an  abrupt  laugh  Came  from  that  woman 
standing  so  defiantly  at  the  angry  man's  side  —  "  That  is  denied 
me  ! "  and  she  clasped  her  hands  tightly  above  her  forehead. 
"  For  me  there  is  only  memory  and  sorrow  —  for  her,  rest ! 
Hugh  Golding,  you  dare  not  tell  me  that  you  loved  her  whose 
hand  painted  this  ?  " 

^  "  Heavens  !  yes  !  —  madam  —  a  thousand  times,  yes  !  What 
do  you  stand  there  mocking  me  for  ?  I  will  see  Leafy  !  "  and 
he  took  a  step  nearer  the  door. 

"  Aye,  you  loved  her  !  —  you  loved  her  —  "  and  Mrs.  Earle 
repeated  his  words  in  a  low,  level  monotone,  but  with  bitter 
sarcasm ;  then,  her  mood  changing,  she  advanced  nearer,  and 
screamed  in  frenzied  accents,  "  So  the  hawk  loves  the  poor 
white  dove  —  and  the  snake, the  charmed  bird.  Deny  it,  if  you 
can,  Hugh  Golding  !  "  Step  by  step  had  she  advanced  toward 
him  —  her  arm  upraised  —  her  tone  shriller  —  her  eye  sterner  ; 
and  that  bold  bad  man  cowered  under  her  gaze. 


382  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

But  his  anger  mastered  his  fear.  He  caught  her  uplifted 
arm  in  his  iron  grasp. 

"  For  God's  sake,  woman,  tell  me  what  you  mean  !  Do  you 
hear  ? "  —  and  he  shook  her  forcibly.  "  You  meet  me  with 
insult  —  with  ravings.  By  heavens  !  I  will  not  bear  this,  even 
from  the  mother  of  my  future  wife  !  But,  pshaw  ! "  —  and  he 
dropped  her  arm  —  "I  waste  tune  on  a  doting  woman  !  Lead 
me  to  Leafy ! " 

"'Wife!  wife!"  —  and  Mrs.  Earle  repeated  the  word  scorn- 
fully. "  Hugh  Golding,  do  not  come  here  with  lies  on  your 
lips !  You  did  not  utter  that  word  yesterday,  when  you  made 
my  darling's  name  the  theme  of  sneer  and  jest.  It  comes  too 
late  now  .  —  too  late  !  "  —  and  she  leaned  faintly  against  the 
wall. 

"  Madam,"  —  and  the  angry  man's  eyes  flashed  fire,  —  "  be- 
ware !  You  will  tempt  me  too  far.  I  acknowledge  that  I 
uttered  those  words.  I  was  a  dolt !  —  fool !  —  what  you  will ;'  but 
you  shall  not  gainsay  my  words  now  I  No  man  would  have 
uttered  what  you  have  spoken,  and  escaped  me ;  but  you  are  a 
woman.  But  let  us  have  done  with  this ! " 

Mrs.  Earle  stood  before  him  in  the  doorway. 

"Tell  me  truly,  as  you  would  upon  your  dying  bed.  Hugh 
Golding,  did  you  come  here  to-night  to  ask  Leafy  Earle  for  your 
wife  ?  " 

"  I  did ! "  he  answered  haughtily.  "  Now  call  her,  or  let  me 
pass." 

Mrs.  Earle  stood  aside  ;  and  such  a  laugh  as  almost  froze  the 
blood  in  his  veins,  fell  from  her  lips. 

"  That  is  all !  Go  in  now  !  She  is  in  there  —  ask  her  to  be 
your  bride  !  She  will  be  very  quiet,  and  listen  !  Or  perhaps 
you  will  find  her  sleeping !  Wake  her  gently  —  gently  !  There, 
go  in  now !  " 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  383 

With  something  like  awe  creeping  over  him,  Golding  paused 
upon  the  threshold. 

A  waxen  taper  burned  faintly  on  the  white-draperied  dressing- 
table.  Pictures  hung  on  the  wall ;  little  graceful  trifles  of  the 
toilet  lay  on  the  bureau ;  an  oval  mirror  gleamed  dimly ;  a 
wardrobe-door  stood  ajar,  revealing  the  light  summer  robes  in 
which  the  artist-girl  had  arrayed  herself;  two  dainty  slippers,  still 
arched  into  roundness,  lay  upon  the  carpet ;  a  bouquet  withered 
in  a  glass  upon  the  mantel;  and  the  scarlet  blossoms  of  the 
Indian  creeper  lay  in  a  shower  where  they  had  dropped  in  at 
the  open  casement.  But  Hugh  Golding  saw  nothing,  sa^re  the 
outlines  of  a  slender  form  on  a  low  French  bed  in  the  extremity 
of  the  apartment. 

"  Leafy,  are  you  ill  ?  "  —  and  he  bent  above  her  with  a 
kiss. 

But,  good  God !  what  icy  touch  met  his'  own !  what  marble 
lips  !  Was  she  —  was  she  —  and  his  heart  framed  a  word  his 
lips  refused  to  utter  —  was  she,  dead  ?  No  !  no  !  Had  not  Mrs. 
Earle  said  he  would  find  her  sleeping  ?  She  had  been  very  ill, 
for  the  face  within  its  frame  of  chestnut  hair  was  fearfully  pale 
—  but  she  was  only  sleeping,  and  would  waken  at  his  call. 

"  Leafy  !  Leafy  !  Speak  to  me !  hear  my  defence  !  Tell  me 
you  forgive  !  "  —  and  he  raised  her  head  in  his  arms. 

But  it  dropped,  a  leaden  weight,  upon  Ms  breast.  Pale  as 
death,  he  laid  her  back  upon  the  pillows.  The  words  that  would 
have  saved  her,  came  too  late  —  too  late  —  for  Leafy  Earle  was 
dead! 

flow  had  she  perished  ?  There  were  no  blue  livid  lines 
about  the  sweet  young  mouth,  to  denote  the  subtle  workings  of 
Poison.  No  !  —  the  gentle  sleeper  had  not  cowardly  fled  from 
the  woe  that  weakened  her  brain. 

Had  God  quietly  taken  her  breath  while  she  slept  ?     It  must 


884  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

be  !  —  for,  so  perfect  the  repose  of  the  exquisite,  statuesque  form, 
that  it  seemed  but  an  easy  transition  to  another  life,  —  a  sleep, 
on  earth  —  an  awakening  in  heaven !  Aye,  in  heaven !  for 
surely  waiting  Angels  had  borne  the  released  spirit  of  that  sinless 
one  up  to  the  Father's  bosom. 

And  yet,  not  thus  had  she  been  taken. 

"  So  she  died !  'l  —  and  Mrs.  Earle  stood  beside  the  awe- 
stricken  man,  and  folded  down  the  drapery  from  the  fair  white 
bosom  whereon  one  black  streak  —  the  finger-mark  of  the  scath- 
ing lightning  —  showed  the  stroke  that  sent  her  spirit  to  her 
God.  "  So  she  died  ! "  murmured  the  miserable  mother  in  a 
hollow  voice.  "  With  her  maddened  brain  on  fire  —  striving  to 
escape  from  Thought  and  Memory  —  she  went  out  into  the  mid- 
night tempest,  where  God  sent  the  stroke  ;  for,  so  I  found  her, 
with  His  finger-mark  there ! "  —  and  she  gently  touched  the 
scarred  bosom.  "  And  here  she  lies,"  —  and  Mrs.  Earle's  voice 
grew  shrill  as  she  laid  her  hand  upon  the  arm  of  the  miserable 
man  who  cowered  away  from  her  touch,  —  "  yesterday,  bloom- ' 
ing  —  to-day,  cold,  pale,  dead !  But,  Hugh  Golding,  I  will  not 
reproach  you.  It  is  well  —  well !  "  —  and  the  stricken  mother 
folded  her  arms  calmly.  "It  is  well  —  well!  aye,  better  to  die 
so,  than  live  to  shame,  disgrace,  sin !  I  thank  God  that  He  took 
her  !  He  knew  what  was  best  for  my  beautiful  —  my  darling. 
God  was  more  merciful  than  man  !  " 

Lower  and  lower  cowered  the  wretched  man,  staggering 
faintly  against  the  wall  —  sinking  beside  the  bed  —  reaching 
forth  one  trembling  hand  to  touch  the  long,  dishevelled  hair 
oversweeping  the  pillows. 

"  Get  up  !  Go  away  !  You  shall  not  touch  her !  —  you  shall 
not  lay  a  finger  upon  her !  it  would  sully  the  dead  !  "  —  and 
Mrs.  Earle  pointed  to  the  open  door.  "  Go  again  into  your  own 
world  of  Passion  and  Sin  !  —  go,  to  madden  other  brains  —  to 


PEACE:  OK  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        385 

break  other  hearts,  to  whom,  haply,  the  thunderbolt  may  not 
come  !  Go  !  —  and  forget,  if  you  can,  how  died  one,  stainless, 
young,  and  beautiful,  whom  God  would  not  let  you  harm  —  for 
He  wanted  her  for  an  Angel  in  heaven  ! "" 

And,  mute  and  awe-stricken,  Hugh  Golding  crept  away. 


33 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

Thus  lived  —  thus  died  she :  never  more  on  her 
Shall  sorrow  light,  or  shame.    She  was  not  made 
Through  years  or  moons  the  inner  weight  to  bear 
Which  colder  hearts  endure  till  they  are  laid 
By  age  in  earth. 


BYEON. 


DEATH  is  a  royal  conqueror,  and  Consumption  is  his  avant- 
courier,  heralding  his  approach.  And  the  messenger  goes  for- 
ward —  hangs  his  crimson  banners  on  the  cheeks  of  his  surren- 
dering victims  —  mirrors  the  flash  and  glitter  of  his  armor  in 
their  sparkling  eyes  ;  and  the  sound  of  their  hollow  coughs  and 
faltering  footsteps  are  but  the  feeble  echoes  of  his  trumpet  calls. 
And  afterward,  when  the  Citadel  is  weakened,  then  conies  the 
Victor,  emblazoned  in  the  panoply  of  triumph,  to  gather  up  his 
spoils. 

Oh,  would  he  only  add  to  the  list  of  his  victims  the  sad,  the 
heart-broken,  the  earth-weary  —  they,  who,  exhausted  with  their 
life-campaign,  capitulate  willingly,  even  joyfully,  to  the  great 
conqueror !  —  would  he  might  spare  the  young,  the  beautiful, 
to  whom  existence  is  a  coveted  joy,  sweetened  by  Love,  Hope, 
and  a  thousand  pleasures  !  —  then,  indeed,  his  inexorable  sum- 
mons were  not  so  terrible !  But  oftenest,  he  binds  to  his  chariot 
wheels,  as  imperial  Roman  Caesar  sought  a  Cleopatra  to  add 
splendor  to  his  triumphal  march,  the  most  brilliant,  young,  and 
beautiful  —  but  to  whom,  alas  !  as  to  the  proud  Egyptian  queen, 
no  aspic  poison  from  the  Libyan  weeds  can  bring  release  from 
his  thrall ! 

(386) 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        387 

Jasper  Golding  went  straight  from  the  crowded  court-room  to 
the  death-bed«of  his  child-wife. 

It  had  been  even  at  "  the  eleventh  hour "  when  Jasper  en- 
tered the  City  Hall  where  Revere's  trial  was  going  on ;  and 
there  had  been  a  strong  struggle  in  his  heart.  He,  alone,  of  all 
living  beings,  possessed  a  knowledge  which  would  save  a  fellow- 
being  from  the  disgrace  of  crime  and  the  severest  penalty  of  the 
law ;  and  that  fellow-being  was  one  to  whom  the  ties  of  blood,  if 
not  affection,  allied  him.  But  had  he  acted  a  father's  part 
toward  him  ?  Had  he  not,  rather,  ignored  his  existence,  after 
dowering  him  with  his  sullied  birthright  ?  —  and  did  this  man, 
who  had  shown  his  own  offspring  no  mercy,  deserve  it  at  his 
hands  ? 

Brooding  over  such  thoughts  all  the  weeks  of  Revere's  im- 
prisonment —  failing  to  appear  at  his  preliminary  examination 
before  his  committal  to  the  Tombs,  where  a  word  would  have 
saved  him  —  Jasper  obeyed  the  first  and  natural  emotion  of  an 
outraged,  wounded,  and  proud  spirit ;  but  latterly,  the  inherent 
honor  of  his  soul  pleaded  against  so  ignoble  a  revenge,  and  whis- 
pered, "  Return  good  for  evil !  " 

Had  the  young  man  known  aught  of  his  father's  heart- 
yearnings,  and  the  subtle  cunning  of  the  evil  Golding,  who 
feared,  lest,  in  the  parent's  acknowledgment  of  his  son,  his  own 
power  over  him  would  cease  —  then,  something  of  filial  love 
would  have  prompted  him  to  a  widely  different  course  ;  for  his 
heart,  though  proudly  sensitive,  yielded  to  the  slightest  touch  of 
affection. 

But,  instead,  he  only  harbored  a  species  of  silent  scorn,  almost 
hatred. 

On  the  night  when,  in  passing  Delmonte's,  he  saw  his  father 
issue  thence,  pale,  haggard,  and  walking  excitedly  homeward,  an 
unaccountable  impulse  urged  him  to  follow  his  footsteps.  Often 


388        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN 

in  the  thronged  streets  he  had  stood  beside  Inm  —  watching  the 
merchant's  cold,  proud,  impassive  face  —  then  glided  away  to 
brood  over  his  disgrace.  He  had  heard  the  story  of  Revere's 
domestic  sorrow  in  the  insanity  of  his  beautiful  wife  ;  but  of  his 
inner  life  he  knew  nothing  —  and  a  wild  desire  prompted  him  to 
follow  him  into  his  solitude.  And,  as  he  stood  concealed  among 
the  heavy  windowrdrapery,  a  sudden  purpose  took  possession  of 
his  mind  :  he  would  boldly  confront  him  !  —  the  son  should  stand 
face  to  fafie  with  his  father  !  , 

But  the  web  of  circumstances  restrained  Mm.  He  went  forth 
the  possessor  of  an  important  secret ;  and  then  came  the  exulta- 
tion of  anticipated  triumph.  When,  next  day,  men  spoke  of  the 
arrest  of  the  merchant  prince,  he  only  closed  his  lips  tightly, 
muttering  to  himself  triumphantly,  "  The  scales  of  Justice  have 
turned.  I  will  not  save  him !  " 

But  the  pleadings  of  innate  honor  could  not  be  crushed.  He 
would  savl  him  ;  but  he  would  never  forgive  him.  And  when, 
in  the  court-room,  he  met  that  look  from  his  father's  eyes  —  a 
look  appealing  for  reconciliation  and  tenderness  —  the  old  scorn- 
ful resolve  crept  over  him  like  an  iron  wave ;  and  he  shut  his 
heart  against  its  better  pleadings,  hurled  forth  a  freezing,  de- 
fiant glance  —  and  in  that  glance,  disowned  him.  Misguided 
Jasper ! 

An^  so  he  went  forth  from  the  crowded  court,  and  returned  to 
the  home  where  Death  waited  for  Gabrielle. 

Lying  on  heaped  up  pillows  —  curly  rings  of  hair  swept  away 
from  a  moist,  pale  forehead  —  eyes  burning  brilliantly  under 
long  lashes  that  swept  cheeks  colorless  as  death,  save  for  two 
hectic  spots  glowing  with  a  brighter  crimson  than  the  heart  of 
June's  damask  roses  —  her  lips,  threads  of  vermeil  parted  over 
glistening  pearls  —  blue  veins,  tinted  with  dark  violet  streaks, 
weaving  a  net-work  over  thin  temples  and  the  diaphanous 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  389 

hands  that  grasped  a  bouquet  of  flowers  —  so  Jasper  found 
her. 

Never,  in  her  most  brilliant  flush  of  triumph,  when  her  ex- 
quisitely chiselled  limbs  bounded  through  the  vigorous  mazes  or 
sank  in  the  dreamy,  undulating  waves  of  oriental  dances  —  when 
the  crowded  theatre  rang  with  applause  and  a  rain  of  flowers  fell 
at  her  feet  —  never  was  Gabrielle  so  brilliantly,  startlingly  beau- 
tiful. 

Jasper  motioned  the  attendant  to  go  out,  then  drew  fhe  dying 
girl's  head  to  his  bosom  —  for  he  saw  the  darkening  shadows  of 
Azrael's  wing  hovering  over  her  face. 

"  Jasper,  stay  close  beside  me.  Don't  leave  me ! "  she  whis- 
pered. 

The  pressure  of  his  arms  reassured  her;  a  meek,  loving, 
child-like  smile  rippled  about  her  lips. 

"  I  am  so  happy  —  so  happy  here ! "  she  said.  "  A  little 
while  ago  —  while  you  were  away  —  a  cold  hand  lay  on  my 
heart.  But  it  has  fled  now.  I  shall  sleep  soon  —  for  I  am  very 
weary,  Jasper  !  "  —  and  she  threw  up  a  strange  searching  look 
into  his  face. 

A  thrill  went  over  his  frame.  What  meant  that  glance? 
Did  she  know  whose  icy  hand  chilled  the  life-tide  in  her 
heart? 

"  Gabrielle  ! "  ,he  whispered ;  but  his  heart  failed.  He  bent 
his  head ;  left  a  long  kiss  on  her  moistened  forehead ;  and  the 
query  died  on  his  lips. 

The  dying  girl  comprehended  him.  Laying  her  head  upon 
his  shoulder,  she  whispered, 

"  Jasper,  bend  down  your  ear.     I  have  been  wanting  to  tell 

you  all  along  —  for  many  days  —  how  I  can  never  grow  strong 

and  well  again.     Jasper,  do  not  fear  to  talk  .of  this  !     I  know  it 

all  —  I  am  dying !     Don't  weep,  Jasper !     I  want  to  tell  you 

33* 


390  PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

how  grateful,  how  happy,  you  have  made  me.  It  was  good  of 
you  to  love  me  at  all  —  to  wed  me.  You  might  have  been 
wicked,  and  forsaken  me,  like  as  many  proud  men  would ;  but 
you  did  not.  Jasper,  your  heart  was  good,  and  you  loved  me  — 
but  somebody  had  been  there  before  me  !  Don't  start  up  !  don't 
look  at  me  !  I  know  it  all !  I  heard  them  talk  about  it  at  the 
theatre ;  and  that  benefit  night,  when  I  slipped  into  the  actresses' 
box  unseen,  I  watched  a  proud,  beautiful  face  bent  upon  you. 
It  was  hers  !  Her  e"yes  were  proud  and  dark,  but  her  lip  was 
soft  and  tender.  Then,  I  knew  she  loved  you !  —  then,  I  saw 
that  -the  little  dancing-girl  was  no  fitting  wife  for  you.  I  was 
ignorant  of  many  tilings  —  and  you  were  kind,  and  pitied  me, 
and  taught  me,  for  you  loved  me  as  a  child  —  a  little  one ;  but, 
Jasper,  I  could  never  climb  into  the  high  places  of  your  soul ! " 

"  Gabrielle  —  Oh  Gabrielle  !  Don't  talk  so!  I  love  you! 
You  must  stay  for  me  ! "  —  and  he  clasped  her  more  tightly. 

"  Hush  !  "  she  whispered,  a  few  tears  crushed  under  her  eye- 
lids. "  Hush !  You  will  make  me  want  to  live  —  and  that 
would  be  wicked  now.  It  is  best  that  I  go ;  you  will  be  happier 
then.  I  have  thanked  the  Virgin  that  I  can  go  before,  and  leave 
you.  That  proud,  dark-eyed  girl  will  make  your  future  brighter 
than  I.  TeU  me,  Jasper,  Jiave  you  not  loved  her  ?  " 

There,  beside  the  dying,  there  were  no  secrets  kept.  Jasper 
bowed  his  head.  . 

"  I  knew  it,  mon  ami ! "  —  and  Gabrielle  sat  upright  and 
spoke  calmly.  "And  now,  promise  me  —  after  I  have  been 
gone  a  little  while,  you  will  go  and  tell  her  all.  You  will 
remember  how  I  wanted  this  —  you  will  do  'this,  Jasper  ?  " 

Again  the  young  man's  head  was  bowed  in  token  of  assent. 
No  emotion  of  earthly  passion  thrilled  his  frame  in  that  solemn 
hour ;  he  seemed  listening  to  the  words  of  an  angel. 

For  a  little  tune,  Gabrielle  lay  very  quiet.     Her  face  seemed 


•  PEACE  :    OB»  THE   STOLEN   WILL.  391 

exalted,  pure,  holy.  A  tender  smile  played  about  her  lips. 
Then  she  spoke. 

"  Jasper,  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  about  it  of  late  —  the 
life  I  led  at  the  theatre.  I  see  now,  how  wicked  it  was  to  go 
there  and  dance ;  I  am  very  sorry.  But  I  had  never  known 
any  other  life  —  I  had  almost  lived  upon  the  stage.  I  did  not 
know  then,  why  they  stamped  and  cheered  —  why  they  threw 
gems  and  flowers  before  me,"  —  and  a  faint  blush  crept  over  her 
white  face  till  it  died  among,  the  damp  curls  upon  her  forehead. 
<k  But,  Jasper,  I  kept  my  heart  pure  through  it  all ;  I  never  lis- 
tened ;  I  never  took  their  gifts ;  I  never  loved  any  one,  till  you 
came.  Do  you  believe  God  will  think  me  very  wicked,  Jas- 
per ?  "  —  and  her  dimming  eyes  sought  his. 

"  Gabrielle,  you  are  stainless  as  snow  !  God  will  make  you 
one  of  his  angels  !  But  don't  talk  so  !  I  cannot  bear  it ! "  — 
and  his  head  was  bent  to  hers. 

"  Jasper,  I  have  no  fear  to  die,"  she  whispered  calmly,  fold- 
ing her  arm  lovingly  over  his  neck.  "  The  Virgin  will  plead 
for  me,  and  Jesus  is  all-merciful.  I  have  found  consolation  in 
this!"  —  and  she  drew  a  small  gilded  Catholic  Bible  from 
beneath  her.  pillows.  "  This  has  told  me  the  true  way  ! "  — 
pressing  a  small  golden  cross  to  her  lips.  "  It  is  good  to  die 
here,  on  your  heart  —  to  look  into  the  coming  years  and  know 
you  will  not  forget  me !  And  you  will  be  happy  yet ! " 

She  raised  her  head  with  momentary  strength,  and  her  dying 
words  were  uttered  in  prophetic  tones :  "  You  will  be  happy 
yet ! "  Then  she  sank  wearily  back. 

"  Lay  my  head  on  your  heart.  You  have  loved  me  a  little  ?  — 
a  little,  Jasper?" 

"  Much  —  much  !  —  Oh .  Gabrielle  !  "  —  and  tears  dropped 
on  her  face  where  a  bluish  tinge  darkened  about  the  sweet 
mouth  and  a  mist  gathered  in  the  dimming  eyes. 


392  PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  • 

"  These  tears  !  these  tears  !  "  she  murmured,  faintly  smiling. 
"  I  am  happy  now !  Hold  me  close  over  your  heart !  Take 
my  hands  —  so ! "  —  sliding  them  into  his.  "  Yours  are  warm, 
Jasper  —  mine  are  cold  —  cold  !  Kiss  me  quick,  Jasper  ! 
I  am  going  !  "  —  and  a  short  gasp  upheaved  the  fluttering 
chest. 

Jasper  bent  down.  But  the  eyes  into  which  he  looked  saw 
not ;  the  lips  he  touched  gave  back  no  answering  pressure  ;  for 
Death  had  been  there  before  him,  and  rifled  the  kiss.  Not  a 
sigh  —  not  a  groan,  —  only  a  tighter  clasping  of  his  hands  —  a 
quiver  of  the  veined  eyelids  ere  they  closed  —  a  heavier  sinking 
of  the  slight  form  in  his  arms. 

It  was  over !     Gabrielle,  the  dancing-girl,  was  dead ! 

When  the  sunset  shadows  were  slanting  into  the  room  where 
Jasper  sat  beside  his  dead,  the  door  softly  opened  and  two  forms 
stole  in  beside  him.  In  that  hour,  the  repentant  father  took  his 
softened  son  to  .his  heart ;  and  a  fair-haired  girl,  whose  face 
brought  him  a  memory  of  hers  whose  pale,  gentle  features  had 
never  faded  from  Childhood's  morning  twilight  —  his  angel 
mother's  —  came  and  mingled  her  tears  with  his  beside  the 
death-couch.  Peace  had  met  her  brother. 

And  Louis  Rowland,  who  had  brought  them  thither,  paused  a 
few  moments  with  the  nurse  in  the  outer  room,  then  went  back 
to  his  own  home. 

"  How  did  he  meet  them  ?  Are  they  reconciled  ?•  asked 
his  sister  excitedly,  meeting  him  upon  the  threshold  of  the 
library. 

"  Orah,"  —  and  he  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  down  beside 
him  —  "  Orah,  be  calm.  Henceforth*  there  can  be  no  bitterness 
between  father  and  son.  Sorrow  is  a  softener  and  a  sanctifier. 
I  left  them  beside  the  death-couch  of  Jasper's  wife." 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  393 

Orah's  hand  tightened  convulsively  over  her  brother's,  then 
she  released  them ;  and  as  he  left  her  alone,  tears  dropped 
silently  over  her  interlocked  fingers. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

But  all  is  over  —  I  am  one  the  more 

To  baffled  millions  who  have  gone  before. 

BYRON. 


I  expect  a  judgment  shortly  —  at  the  day  of  judgment. 

BLEAK  HOUSE. 

TINT  blades  of  grass  and  sweet  wild  flowers  crept  lovingly 
into  the  sod  that  covered  Leafy  Earle.  The  artist-girl  •  slept 
among  birds  and  flowers,  and  all  of  Nature's  beautiful  things 
that  in  life  she  had  loved  so  well. 

The  thicket  of  wild  roses  grew  near  —  but  their  petals  had 
withered  and  fallen  long  before,  —  how  typical  of  the  brief, 
sweet  life  of  the  sleeper !  The  stately  whitewood  tree,  under 
whose  rent  branches  the  mother  had  found  her  child,"  lay  prone 
trailing  its  fallen,  giant  length  down  the  hill-slope  —  shivered 
and  blackened  by  the  same  hungry  lightning-stroke  that  lapped 
up  the  sleeper's  life. 

There  had  been  a  little  funeral  for  Leafy  Earle.  The  people 
came  up  from  the  valley ;  and  there  were  many  who  wept,  look- 
ing on  the  fair  young  creature  stricken  down  in  her  youth  and 
beauty.  The  village-bell  tolled,  and  the  pastor  read  prayers 
over  her,  committing  earth  to  earth  and  dust  to  dust.  The 
village  sexton  filled  in  the  grave,  smoothed  the  sod  above  it ; 
then  a  few  kind-hearted  women  lingered  to  comfort  the  bereaved 
mother,  and  beg  her  to  leave  her  lonely  retreat. 

But  their  offers  were  gently,  yet  firmly,  refused.  In  life,  her 
child  hajj  been  her  sole  care  —  in  death,  she  must  watch  the 

(394) 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  395 

place  where  they  laid  her  —  and  so  they  went  back  to  their 
homes,  and  the  solitude  of  the  Nest  was  unbroken ;  and  the 
stricken  mother  kept  a  lonely  vigil  with  her  woe. 

A  mother's  love  —  how  strong,  how  deathless  !  Born  at  the 
cradle  —  ending  not  with  the  tomb  —  but  following  the  dead 
over  the  portals  of  Eternity ;  —  perishing  not  when  the  sods  sink 
heavier  on  the  pulseless  breast,  and  the  death-mould  lays  its 
crown  in  the  shining  hair !  —  holds  the  wide  earth  another  affec- 
tion so  holy  and  enduring  ? 

Other  loves  perish.  Children  nursed  at  the  same  white 
bosom  become  parted  and  estranged  in  the  great  world-strife ; 
between  husband  and  wife  —  they  who  promised  at  the  altar  to 
love  and  cherish  "till  death  do  us  part"  —  widens  often  "a 
great  gulf,"  over  whose  precipitous  cliffs  of  Pride,  or  Hate, 
neither  may  cross  again  to  join  the  other ;  with  the  lover  and 
beloved,  error,  jealousy,  or  deceit,  may  weave  their  treacherous 
thralls  to  part  each  kindred  heart  forever,  — 

"  And  never  either  finds  another 
To  free  the  hollow  heart  from  paining ! 
They  stand  aloof — the  scars  remaining  — 
Like  cliffs  that  have  been  rent  asunder." 

Or  Change  may  come  !  The  eye  that  kindled  at  our  glance 
grows  cold  —  the  fingers  that  clasped  ours  give  back  no  loving 
pressure  —  the  heart  that  welcomed  our  footfall  throbs  not  a 
pulse-beat  quicker  at  our  coming  —  new  ties  are  formed,  for  so 
it  is  that  fresh  loves  build  ever  on  the  ashes  of  dead  ones  —  but 
the  Mother-Love  never  fades,  or  dims.  Though  new  joys  spring 
in  her  pathway  and  other  feet  make  music  in  her  ears,  she  never 
forgets  the  dead.  The  mother's  heart  has  room  enough  for  :i!l. 

Writing  this,  my  heart  goes  out  to  yonder  graveyard  where 
two  sleepers  lie  —  a  dark-eyed  girl,-  who  went  home  early  in  her 


PEACE  :    OR    THE    STOLEN   WILL. 

youth  and  beauty,  and  a  little  one,  who  lay  down  to  sleep  with 
but  the  shadows  of  nine  short  summers  in  his  golden  hair  ;  and 
to-day,  for  them  a  mother  still  mourns  who  will  not  be  comforted, 
because,  like  weeping  Rachel,  her  children  "  are  not." 

But  alas,  if  Remorse  wrings  the  heart  of  the  mourner! 
Grief-stricken  Mrs.  Earle  was  less  miserable  in  her  sorrow, 
than  the  pale,  haggard  man  who;  with  the  shadows  of  night, 
crept  stealthily  from  the  dense  wood  of  pines  and  knelt  at  Leafy 
Earle's  grave. 

His  attire  was  disordered,  his  thick  hair  dishevelled,  and  his 
frame  trembled  with  fear  and  weakness  as  he  feebly  staggered 
forward.  • 

Hugh  Golding  was  a  hunted  man.  For  two  days  and  nights, 
the  officers  of  the  law  had  been  on  the  search  hi  the  great  city ; 
every  vessel  leaving  port  had  been  searched,  cutting  off  his 
contemplated  avenue  of  escape  by  the  foreign  steamer ;  adver- 
tisements, with  descriptions  of  his  person  and  offers  of  reward, 
were  everywhere  ;  and  in  desperation  he  had  bent  his  footsteps 
to  the  spot  of  all  others  most  terrible  to  him,  and  for  two  days 
and  nights  lain  concealed  in  the  dense  pine  forests. 

"  Hunted  down  like  a  dog ! "  he  muttered  as  he  silnk  upon 
the  turf.  "  It  has  come  to  this,  then  !  To  hide  and  skulk  away, 
and  starve  here  !  —  devil !  who  could  have  foreseen  it  ?  But 
this  is  hardest  of  all !  "  and  he  struck  the  sod  with  his  clenched 
fist  —  "  to  know  that  my  own  madness  did  this  !  —  Oh  Leafy, 
Leafy  —  pure  and  beautiful-!  Did  I  believe  there  is  a  God  — 
I  would  say  he  sent  your  death  as  a  judgment  —  a  judgment !  " 
and  with  a  groan,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  Hugh  Golding,  it  is  a  judgment  I  " 

The  miserable  man  sprang  up  as  though  an  arrow  had  pierced 
his  heart,  and  glared  around  with  a  frightened  air. 

A  woman  knelt  at  the  head  of  the  grave. 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  897 

Golding  knew  his  danger.  He  went  close  beside  her,  and 
crouching  down  like  the  humblest  beggar  said  in  a  hollow 
voice, 

"  Mrs.  Earle,  for  God's  sake  be  my  friend.  I  swear  to  you 
here,  that  I  never  meant  what  I  uttered  in  a  moment  of  mad- 
ness and  she  overheard.  God  knows  that  I  am  wretched 
enough  this  night,  to  know  that  her  ears  can  never  hear  my 
words  of  repentance.  But  I  cannot  stay  to  weep  over  her 
grave.  Mrs.  Earle,"  and  he  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper, 
"  do  you  know  that  I  am  hunted  —  hunted  ?  —  that  a  price  is 
set  upon  my  head  ?  —  I  have  done  a  deed,  for  which,  if  once 
within  the  clutch  of  the  men  upon  my  track,  I  suffer  the  full 
penalty  of  Justice.  You  are  a  woman  —  save  me  —  give  me 
shelter,  rest,  food  — •  hide  me  till  the  search  is  over.  See  !  I 
will  make  you  a  rich  woman  for  life,"  and  a  purse  fell  heavily 
before  her  —  "  there  are  hundreds  of  golden  eagles  —  only 
save  me  !  "  and  he  sank  abjectly  on  his  knees. 

"  Make  me  rich  ?  "  echoed  Mrs.  Earle  sadly,  reproachfully. 
"  Oh,  miserable  man,  what  are  earthly  riches  to  a  mother  who 
has  laid  her  only  treasure  here  ?  Hugh  Golding,  I  would  not 
touch  a  dollar  of  your  gold,  were  I  starving.  Could  it  ever 
bring  back  her?"  and  she  swayed  her  body  to  and  fro  with 
convulsive  moans. 

"  Hugh  Golding,  you  killed  my  child  ;  you  have  desolated  my 
life ;  and  now  you  come  with  another  confession  on  your  lips : 
and  I  hold  your  life  in  my  hands.  —  But  I  will  not  betray  you. 
'Vengeance  is  mine,  and  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord.'  You 
are  safe  !  —  In  yonder  house  you  will  find  food  and  shelter  —  I 
would  not  harm  a  hair  of  your  head  — because  —  she  loved 
you  !  "  and  a  quick,  choking  sob  stifled  the  mother's  voice. 

Humbly,  abjectly,  the  miserable  man  crept  away. 

But  Justice,  long  wronged  of  her  rightful  prey,  could  be 

34 


398  PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

defeated  no  longer.  Tlie  last  leaf,  in  the  life  of  that  evil  man 
was  turned. 

That  twilight,  two  travellers  —  hi  supping  at  a  little  village 
inn  three  miles  down  the  river  —  exchanged  intelligent  glances 
as  the  garrulous  landlord  detailed  an  event  that  had  stirred  the 
whole  surrounding  country. 

u  Mayhap  you've  heard  of  it,  strangers,"  he  said  —  "  about 
the  young  girl  killed  by  lightning  the  other  night  ?  'Twas 
dreadful  lonesome  where  they  lived  —  she  and  her  mother  —  in 
the  old  stone  house  on  the  hill.  Everybody,  a'most,  went  up  to 
the  funeral :  they  said  she  looked  jest  like  a  child  asleep  — 
beautiful  as  a  picter.  There  was  a  gentleman  used  to  come  up 
often  from  York,  and  take  his  fine  horse  from  the  stables  —  he 
kept  it  here  —  and  ride  up  there.  I've  watched  him  twenty 
times ;  and  he  always  come  back  late  and  slept  here,  then  took 
the  first  morning  boat  for  the  city.  He  was  her  sweetheart, 
maybe,  —  but  it  seems  strange  he  didn't  come  nigh  at  the 
funeral." 

"  You  say  this  man  was  from  New  York  ?  Who  was  he  ?  — 
his  name  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  strangers. 

"  Don't  know.  He  always  ptiid  his  bills  like  a  gentleman. 
Settled  up  the  last  night  when  he  went  away  —  the  next  after 
the  thunder-storm.  Was  a  tall  man  —  black  eyes  and  hair  — 
every  inch  a  gentleman.  By  the  way,  strangers,  maybe  you're 
from  York  ?  Have  they  found  the  Bank  robber  yet  ?  Pretty 
bold  stroke,  that  1 " 

"  No !  —  so  far,  the  villain  is  scot  free,"  answered  the  man, 
rising.  "But  —  I  forgot  —  you  said,  I  believe,  sir,  that  this 
death  by  lightning  was  in  these  parts.  Whereabouts  is  the 
stone  cottage,  sir  ?  " 

The  landlord  pointed  from  an  open  window.  "There,  you 
can  see  the  hill  from  here — •' Eagle's  Nest  Hill'  some  call  it. 
The  old  stone  house  is  just  round  the  corner  of  the  bluff." 


PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.        399 

"Thank  you!"  said  his  interrrogator.  Then,  settling  the 
biU,  he  took  his  companion's  arm  and  sauntered  slowly  from 
the  low  porch  of  the  country  inn. 

"  This  must  be  the  region.  Smyth  put  us  on  the  right  trail. 
If  he  has  not  fled  the  country,  we  shall  find  him  here,"  and  they 
quickened  their  pace  along  the  lonely  highway. 

When  Hugh  Golding  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  stone  cot- 
tage, two  tall,  powerful  men  stood  before  him  in  the  gloom. 
Strong  hands  were  laid  upon  his  arms.  With  a  sudden  bound 
and  infuriate  cry  of  despair,  he  dashed  off  their  grasp  and  fled 
toward  the  forest.  But  they  were  with  him  there.  Midway 
between  the  house  and  the  wood,  their  footsteps  paused  beside 
his  own. 

"  Hugh  Golding,  you  are  our  prisoner ! "  and  a  heavy  hand 
fell  on  his  shoulder. 

Like  a  panorama  the  Future  swept  before  his  mental  vision. 
Fetters  —  the  prison  cell  —  the  trial  and  condemnation  —  the 
jeers  of  the  rabble,  and  the  penalty  of  the  inexorable  law. 

The  resolve  of  that  desperate  man  was  taken. 

"  Never  !  By  heaven,  I  will  never  see  Sing  Sing !  Thus  I 
defy  you  !  Now  —  ha  !  ha  !  —  now  take  me  —  on  her  grave  !  " 
and  with  a  sudden  bound  forward,  a  pistol-shot  woke  a  hundred 
echoes  among  the  hills  ;  and  a  shrill  scream  of  mortal  agony  — 
louder  than  the  cry  of  the  frightened  woman  who  stood  spell- 
bound in  terror  —  rang  out  on  the  night  air,  as  he  staggered 
heavily  forward  on  Leafy  Earle's  grave. 

The  officers  raised  him ;  but  a  blood-red  stream  dyed  the 
turf  and  dabbled  their  hands,  and  a  white,  ghastly,  convulsed 
face  was  upturned  to  the  solemn  starlight. 

The  soul  of  the  Suicide  had  passed  into  the  presence  of  ite  God. 

Retribution  had  begun  ! 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

A  consummation  most  devoutly  to  be  wished. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

SOME  one  has  said,  reader,  that  modern  novels  always  termi- 
nate with  a  wedding.  And  pray,  why  not  ? 

Nor  shall  we  depart  from  the  established  rule.  In  this,  our 
novel,  we  will  have  a  bridal  also  —  and  readers,  one  and  all,  you 
are  bidden ;  for,  mayhap,  if  your  eye  has  followed  these  pages 
thus  far,  with  us,  you  may  desire  the  completion  of  our  gentle 
Peace's  happiness.  For  how  could  it  be  otherwise  ? 

Tell  us  not,  O,  cold  worldling,  "It  is  a  sin  to  love  too  much  ! 
God  will  claim  your  idols  !  "  We  never  love  "  too  much."  God 
never  sent  Death,  or  Change,  or  any  other  messenger,  to  take 
away  our  treasures  because  we  loved  them  too  fondly  —  it  is 
because  we  love  HIM  too  little ;  for  "  God  is  love,"  and  He 
never  bestowed  upon  his  creatures  hearts  to  lie  rusted,  and  affec- 
tions whose  "  fine  gold "  should  become  dimmed.  Only  let  us 
take  heed  that  the  image  of  the  human  comes  not  between  us 
and  the  Divine. 

At  the  altar,  looking  into  eyes  that  make  brightest  stars  in  our 
life-sky,  clasping  hands  that  henceforth  lead  us  on  our  life-path, 
—  do  we  love  "too  much"  then?  Beside  the  dying,  pressing 
quivering  lips  to  marble  foreheads,  clinging  fast  to  fingers  Death 
is  striving  to  wrest  from  ours,  or  dropping  tears  upon  the  coffin- 
lid,  —  do  we  love  "  too  much  "  then  ?  . 

Oh,  no  !  Whether  at  bridal  or  burial  —  in  joy  or  woe  —  in 
the  sunshine  or  the  gloom  —  we  never  love  too  strongly  ! 

(400) 


PEACE:   OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  401 

It  was  no  brilliant,  worldly  gathering,  that  grouped  about  the 
altar  of,  Springdale  church,  where  the  old  pastor  uttered  the 
marriage  ritual — and  then  accompanied  them  back  to  the  new 
mansion  Lucien  Palfrey  had  erected  on  the  site  of  the  ruined 
Hall. 

Augustus  Kevere  gave  the  bride  away  —  and  there  was  a 
tremor  of  his  form  and  a  paling  of  his  cheek,  for  he  thought  of  a 
time  when,  by  night,  hi  a  dimly-lighted  church,  he  had  uttered 
mocking  vows  to  a  fair  and  gentle  girl  —  the  counterpart  of 
Peace ;  and  Julie  Revere,  bending  to  press  a  tender  mother-kiss 
on  her  lips,  whispered  earnestly,  "  God  bles»  you,  my  daugh- 
ter I  "  —  then  lifted  her  dark  eyes,  filled  with  chastened  happi- 
ness, to  meet  the  gaze  of  him  who  was  then,  as  he  had  been 
during  that  long  blank  dream  of  her  darkened  brain  —  her  true, 
loyal  husband. 

Little  Cora  almost  comprehended  the  ceremony,  as,  standing 
on  tip-toe  and  plucking  at  delighted  old  Nurse  Allen's  sleeve, 
she  whispered, 

"  Look,  Aunty,  is'nt  my  new  mamma  real  beautiful  ?  " 

Old  Judge  Rowland — rejoicing  in  the  consummation  of  the 
bride's  happiness  —  hardly  refrained  from  rubbing  his  hands 
together  over  his  gold-headed  cane ;  nor  were  more  fervent  con- 
gratulations offered  the  blushing  Peace  at  the  completion  of  the 
ceremony,  than  Louis  Rowland's.  For  his  high-souled  nature 
scorned  to  envy  Lucien  Palfrey  the  bride  he,  too,  would  have 
won  ;  and  afterwards,  when  a  beautiful  and  refined  woman,  very 
like  Peace,  filled  his  heart  and  home  with  sunshine,  he  waa  fully 
repaid  for  the  sacrifice. 

But^  to  the  bridesmaid  and  groomsman  —  they  who  came  up 
the  aisle  of  the  old  church  with  the  betrothed,  and  stood  beside 
them  when  a  wedded  pair —  was  there,  in  the  beautiful  marriage 
service  to  which  they  listened,  the  solemn  benediction  of  the 

34* 


402        PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

clergyman,  the  bridegroom's  manly  pride  or  the  tender  light  in 
Peace's  blue  eyes,  to  them,  no  foreshadowing  of  a  day.  in  their 
future  ? 

Gabrielle's  prophecy  will  be  fulfilled  !  Though  never  forget- 
ting the  rare,  loving  child-wife  mouldering  under  the  turf-sods  in 
Greenwood  Cemetery,  Jasper  Revere  knows  that  a  stronger, 
riper  love,  sways  his  heart  toward  the  noble  girl  to  whom  he 
pledged  his  faith.  Proud,  impetuous,  —  but  loving  and  yielding 
to  the  beloved  — =•  such  antitheses  exists  in  both  characters ; 
combined,  they  will  form  a  harmonious  whole.  Nor  will  their 
union  be  a  mere  priestly  formula,  joining  hands  alone  —  but,  as 
are  too  few  in  this  world  of  ours  —  in  heart,  mind,  and  soul,  they 
will  be  married ! 

Only  two  —  hearing  of  that  bridal  —  vented  their  rage  and 
discomfiture  in  angry  passion.  Mrs.  Delano  reproached  herself 
that  she  had  ever  taken  "  that  artful  governess  "  into  the  house 
—  and  stormed  and  fumed,  till  her  "  darlings "  were  glad  to 
find  refuge  in  the  deserted  school-room,  and*the  pet  poodle, 
"  Marky,"  set  up  violent  canine  demonstrations.  But  the 
haughty  Florence  —  though  outwardly  cold  as  ice,  and  hoping 
"mamma  wouldn't  make  a  fool  of  herself"  —  shut  herself  in 
the  solitude  of  her  own  room  and  wept  such  bitter  tears  as  she 
had  never  shed  before  —  such  tears  as  a  haughty,  humiliated 
woman  weeps,  when  the  only  heart  for  whose  love  she  strove  is 
indifferent  alike  to  proffered  love,  or  scorn. 

But  at  Springdale  church,  the  wedding  was  over,  and  the 
bridal  party  had  entered  their  carriages  to  return  to  the  Hall, 
when  occurred  a  little  episode  which,  as  it  relates  somewhat  to 
the  fortunes  of  the  new-made  bride,  we  will  relate  by  way  of 
finale. 

u  Peace,  Peace !  —  pray  look  at  that  outre  looking  being ! " 


PEACE:  OR  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  403 

exclaimed  Orah  Howland.  "  See  !  —  as  I  live,  he  is  actually 
bowing !  What  can  he  mean  ?  " 

Peace  leaned  from  the  carriage.  Keeping  pace  with  the 
vehicle,  a  figure,  strange  and  outre,  indeed  —  but,  after  a  moment 
of  bewildered  recognition,  strangely  familiar  —  met  her  aston- 
ished gaze. 

In  the  well-remembered  suit  of  gray  linsey-woolsey  —  his 
crape-banded  hat  and  thick  shoes  white  with  dust,  —  every  fea- 
ture of  his  little,  quizzical,  meagre  face  beaming  with  the  wild- 
est delight  —  his  outstretched,  tanned,  bony  hands  holding  a  pa- 
per package  up  to  her  view  —  she  recognize?!  the  bound  boy, 
Chip  Weed.  A  smile  of  recognition  flitted  over  her  features. 

The  inmates  of  the  carriage  looked  on  in  surprise. 

"  Ah,  Peace  —  you  know  him,  then  ?  "  queried  Palfrey  with 
a  mischievous  smile.  "  Some  old  lover,  perhaps  !  —  some  "brave 
Lochinvar  come  out  of  the  west,"  to  steal  the  bride  from  the 
wedding !  I  must  inquire  into  this  !  " 

Peace  rallied. 

"  It  is  Uncle  Reuben's  bound  boy  !  How  could  he  have  found 
me  here  ?  "  —  and  with  impatient  wonder  she  beckoned  him  to 
the  carriage. 

"Aha!  no  trespasser,  then!"  said  the  young  husband  gnyly. 
"In  lieu  of  a  brave  young  knight,  come  to  rob  me  of  my  bride, 
he  proves  a  gallant  retainer  come  to  render  his  mistress  homage. 
But  you  would  speak  to  him.  John,  let  down  the  stops !  Come 
in  here,  sir  ! " 

The  coachman  smiled,  and  handed  the  awkward,  uncouth, 
wonder-stricken  Chip  into  the  velvet-lined  carriage. 

The  bound  boy  stood  mute  and  amazed  at  the  elegant  eqSiip- 
age  and  the  strange,  smiling  faces  ;  but  joy  at  the  sight  of  Peace 
banished  every  fear.  Taking  off  his  straw  hat,  he  twirled  it 
unconsciously,  gazing  upon  her  with  silent  delight. 


404  PEACE  :    OB   THE   STOLEN   WILL.  , 

"  Chip,  how  came  you  here  ?    Was  it  in  search  of  me  ?  "  asked 
Peace. 
»    His  tongue  was  unloosened. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Peace  —  come  all  this  way  to  find  you  —  mighty 
long  way,  too  !  Run  away  in  the  night  —  guess  old  Hannah's 
mad  enough  about  it !  —  travelled  all  the  time.  Got  rides  on 
stages,  carts,  anything!  Slept  most  anywhere,  nights.  Folks 
ask  me  where  I  was  bound  —  give  me  my  vittles.  Clever  folks 
in  the  world !  Found  out  New  York  arter  a  while  —  mighty 
big  town  !  —  couldn't  find  anywhere  !  —  monstrous  high  stone 
walls  —  called  'em  houses,  folks  did !  Asked  lots  of  people 
where  Miss  Peace  lived  —  everybody  fools,  laughed  at  me,  don't 
know  a  darned  thing!  Come  away  —  wouldn't  stay  in  the  tar- 
nal  rackety  place  —  couldn't  hear  my  own  ears  !  Come  up  here 
yesterday  —  got  a  ride  on  a  monstrous  steamboat  —  sot  down  to 
rest  under  a  big  tree.  Fust  thing  I  knew,  saw  you,  Miss  Peace, 
comin'  out  o'  the  meetin'-house,  lookin'  so  mighty  fine  !  Found 
ye  at  last  —  no  thanks  to  nobody,  nuther !  —  He,  he,  he  ! " 

"  But  what  sent  you  ?  What  made  you  undertake  such  a 
wild  thing,  Chip  ?  "  asked  Peace. 

In  his  delight  at  the  meeting,  Chip  had  quite  forgotten  his 
errand ;  and,  while  fumbling  at  his  hat-brim,  had  slid  the  little 
package  back  into  his  pocket.  Drawing  .it  thence,  he  said  with 
a  sly  look  of  cunning,  - 

"  He  !  he  !  he  !  —  Think  I'm  a  fool,  Miss  Peace,  mebbe  ?  — 
Guess  old  Hannah  Ward's  the  biggest  fool  this  time  !  —  Look 
here ! "  and  he  held  up  the  package  with  a  mysterious  shrug, 
"jest  you  look  here,  and  say  if  Chip  Weed  Esq.  don't  know  a 
thing  or  two  ! "  and  dexterously  untying  a  perfect  "  cat's  cradle  " 
of  twine,  he  unfolded  an  old  newspaper  and  drew  forth  a  written 
sheet,  laying  it  upon  the  folds  of  Peace's  white  satin  bridal  robe. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  company  in  a  breath. 


PEACE:   OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL.  405 

"A  legal  paper?"  queried  Palfrey,  unfolding  it.  "<I  give 
and  bequeath  to  nay  adopted  daughter,  Peace  Wedgcwood  — ' 
why,  it  is  a  Will!" 

"  Yes  indeed  !  Uncle  Reuben's  will !  "  echoed  the  astonished 
girl,  her  eyes  bent  on  the  familiar  signature. 

"  He  !  he  !  he  !  "  and  Chip  fairly  shook  with  laughter  — 
"who's  the  fool  now,  Miss  Peace?  Guess  old  Hannah's  mad 
as  a  hornet!  You  see"  —  and  he  lowered  his  voice  to  a 
whisper  —  "  she  stole  it !  —  she  hid  it  —  the  night  Uncle  Kcu- 
ben  died.  But  it's  yourn  now,  Miss  Peace  —  you'll  go  back 
to  the  old  place  agin  ?  " 

Tears  dropped  silently  from  the  blue  eyes  bent  gratefully  on 
the  faithful  bound  boy.  Lucien  Palfrey  took  her  hand,  and 
whispered  softly,  "  There  is  a  Providence  in  this,  my  dear  wile  !  " 

Chip  had  been  a  watchful  observer  of  Dr.  Palfrey.  He 
plucked  at  Peace's  mantle. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  he  whispered  mysteriously. 

The  whisper  was  overheard. 

"My  good  fellow,  I  am  your  young  mistress's  husband  !  " 

Chip  looked  appealingly  toward  her.  "  You  belong  to  him, 
then  ?  You  won't  go  back  to  the  Ridge  ?  'Twas  for  no  use  I 
cheated  Hannah,  and  got  the  Will,  then,  Miss  Peace  ?  "  he  said 
sadly. 

The  faithful  fellow's  devotion  went  to  her  heart. 

"My  good  Chip,  I  shall. go  there  some  day  —  but  I  cannot 
stay  always.  This  is  my  home  now ;  and  you  shall  live  here 
with  me.  I  want  to  talk  with  you  again  by  and  by,"  and  the 
carriage  drew  up  before  the  Hall. 

Chip  hung  his  head — jumped  out  —  and  crept  away  under  a 
hawthorn  hedge,  while  the  party  swept  up  the  gravelled  walk, 
Long  he  sat  there,  until  a  domestic  summoned  him  to  the 
mansion ;  and  when  he  entered,  the  brim  of  his  straw  hat  was 


406  PEACE:  OB  THE  STOLEN  WILL. 

pulled  down  over  eyes  red  with  weeping.  Peace  was  "an 
angel "  still  in  the  eyes  of  the  simple,  tender-hearted,  faithful 
bound  boy  —  but  she  was  a  lost  angel,  to  him. 

When  the  bleak,  cold  New  England  December  came  round, 
Peace  again  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  old  farm-house  at  the 
Ridge.  Not,  as  when  she  had  gone  forth  —  a  lonely,  desolate 
orphan,  to  toil  for  her  daily  bread  —  but  the  cherished  daughter 
jof  a  repentant  father,  and  beloved,  honored  wife  of  the  man 
who  accompanied  her  thither. 

On  the  carriage  at  the  door  sat  Chip,  arrayed  in  all  the  glory 
of  a  new  suit  —  looking  smiling  and  happy. 

Almost  palsied  with  fear,  Hannah  Ward,  with  pale,  trembling 
hands,  placed  chairs  for  her  visitors. 

"  No,  Hannah,"  said  Peace  kindly,  "  I  cannot  tarry.  But  do 
not  fear !  I  have  not  come  hither  to  upbraid  you.  While 
you  live,  you  are  welcome  to  a  home  at  the  Ridge.  —  I  shall 
never  expose  you.  -I  came  here  to-day  to  see  the  old  place 
again." 

Then  Peace  made  a  brief  pilgrimage  to  the  old  familiar 
haunts  whgre  her  heart  had  been  so  often.  Entering  every 
room  in  the  old  ho,use,  not  forgetting  the  attic  chamber  where 
she  had  played  in  her  childhood,  but  lingering  longest  in  the 
bed-room  where  Aunt  Patience  died  —  she  came  back  to  the 
long  kitchen  with  a  calm  smile  on  her  lips. 

"  Good  bye,  Hannah  Ward.  I  shall  come  once  every  year  to 
visit  the  old  place.  Do  not  fear  !  I-  am  your  friend  !  "  and 
leaving  the  spinster  amazed,  and  pale  with  humiliation,  she 
recrossed  the  threshold. 

Then,  beside  her  husband,  she  opened  a  little  gate,  crossed 
the  stubble-fields,  and  followed  the  foot-path  hi  the  valley 
meadow  —  walked  slowly  through  the  sere,  naked  woodlands  — 


PEACE  :    OB   THE    STOLEN    WILL.  407 

and  sought  a  shrine  where  Augustus  Revere  and  his  wife  had 
gone  before  them,  —  where,  her  rest  guarded  by  the  shadowy 
firs  whose  green  no  winter  winds  or  snows  could  wither,  slept 
one,  over  whose  mouldering  form  repentant  tears  were  shed  — 
Mary  Revere,  in  her  lonely  rest  on  Wood  Hill. 


FINIS. 


A     000039287 


